November 5

I waded through thickets of green and gold,
on the hunt for my own Eldorado
like a stalwart conquistador of old,
wandering far from all that is known.

A slow tyranny of clouds overhead
–stolid in denial of this earth–
crept along, scratching woolly heads,
indifferent to maudlin death or birth.

The quiet, honeyed heat melted glades;
panting leaves murmured meditative,
and I realized then that every thing obeyed
one timeless rule: live, try to live.

I drifted on through dry cicada tears
and the bluish dreams of doves,
exchanging memories for years,
and visions for a long forgotten love.

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Painting by R. Waiksnis