115. October Night

Light stops

like a clock.

Fallen leaves confess to shoes

while mice mumble communion prayers

up and down fields of alfalfa.

As Andromeda bends over for a good-night kiss

her dark hair cascades into our eyes.

She tucks us into the night

and the moon shows her

what we have become–

shadows on the prairie.

— Vic Contoski

I’m enjoying retirement no end.  I’m working on a long sequence of short dream poems.  I’ve completed a manuscript of my adventures at The Monroe Institute, detailing the material in the classes I took (strange stuff!), and Jo and I are working on the book on Spiritual Awakenings, about the classes we hold in my home.


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