October Smoke
Brandon Cook
So comes October smoke, with hope,
And my dog lays his head in my lap
At last,
The year and the dog bending at the end of day
As we make our way like a golden leaf, blown by the breeze, de-treed
And fallen in the orange stream,
As if all things are simply on their way, past decay
To the sea
To the bright and autumn sea, which holds the sunlight in just the same way
As it held the August heat, and the longer days
All things, it seems, find their way, through pain
To the heart of everything
Resting our heads as in God's own lap
At peace, at last