Those Hefty Cathedral Tunes

In the warm October afternoon,

the sky’s a palette of blues and whites.

Ferndale’s buildings, grazed by noon

glint and shimmer in the gold sunlight.

The season has sucked the summer out

of warmer, gone September, expelling

yellow leaves and heavier coats

and bees at the mill that buzzing, sting.

Beneath the fluttering American flag,

a store sells “ONLY ORGANIC.”

A truck rolls by, down nine-mile’s drag,

past the gay-friendly store and the psychic.

Who’d have thought that grief would follow

like a too-warm coat in October,

rising in the hot heart’s hollow

like the vapor of a geyser?

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