Monday, November 3, 2014


I looked outside my window
November sunrise
sharply painting the air
clear and bright.
The wind walks,
doesn’t run through the yard.
It opens and folds itself into the growing forest.
There are more leaves on the ground
than on the trees
and so that fluttering dance is rare
each one is spotlighted in the autumn air
a dried soul dance
riding the faint touch of wind
into eternity
joining the song of the earth
the slow dreaming song of decay
and merging
to melt into the ground
to spin inside the earth
speaking the language of ground
the dreaming of oceans
wrapping around the earth
and one leaf merging into the earth
one leaf
one earth
the same.
It was eighty five years ago today
that Joe Hill died
killed by his brothers
murdered by his country.
His ashes floated
on a slight autumn breeze
through most
every country
in the world
and every state in the union
save one
(Where no man should be found dead, said he)
One man
merging with the good earth
and sky of a thousand countries
of a million dreams
one earth
one man
the same
his words moving beyond the ashes of his used up form
growing, now planted
solid and slow
in the endless circle of life
born and reborn
one leaf, endless
one dream, slowly growing always
Joe Hill
planted on the wind
that covers the earth
His eyes looking back from a million fellow travelers.

-Kevin Slick

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