Autumn

some

    times

 some things

are carried

  too long

branches bare

fruit long gone

 hands

unclenched still

   ache in silence

there is a comfort

 in pain

a weight familiar

a fear known

trees

scatter gold

                     though

without ceremony

they lean

without effort

into the letting

to freeze here

is to forget

faith

 translated

is the art

  of

loosening

not all weight

is meant

to be carried

Winter

some

 times

late

 follow the wind

through passages

 between the stars

toward a hush

  where some things

 wait

 beneath the surface

of a white pool

frost on stone

time slows

to a stillness

      did you think

she would bring you flowers?

did you wait

for her

to unsilence

  the dark?

still

 like the cold moon

she listens

 resting

without effort

beneath

the stillness

between the breath

of what was

and what

  will rise

   again

Spring

some

 times

dive

 early

beneath the ice

where

light returns

  slow to warm

  listen—

in the depths

   something shifts—

 a tremble

   not of fear

but return

not the same

but near

the thaw

is a rising—

  a crossing

from what was

to what now

         breathes

in one hand

  she carries a light

not to confront the dark

but to witness

there—

   in the hush

before wings

take shape

can you feel it—

the moment

not yet

but no longer

         rising?

Summer

some

 times

when not looking

  realise

nothing

  is missing

  wake

 to the world

still here—

only

  see it

clearly

warmth

 within stone

river

moving

 through

sky

 wide

unburdened

chestnut

 trees

  stand

their age

without

 sorrow

no rising

no falling

all that is

 and

  always

has

   and will

      be

is