out of the dawn a train horn breaks

out of the dawn a train horn breaks

the hush in October, breaks

my sleep born of my lungs
burdened in the rib cage
bellowing from the crisp autumn wind—

the sunlight and leaves are one shade,
both scattered on my lawn,
ready for the ruddy feet of schoolchildren

whose hair jumps through the wind,
tangling in bare branches—their laughter
and the rustle of the leaves

more daunting than the Kol Nidre;
breaking me more than a requiem
looming through a hollowed cathedral.

the shattered flattened sound makes
this a temple—the children and the leaves
a choir garbed in rusted robes.

the smell of brittles, the sound of beaten sidewalks,
the cantor of a Godly season—
from what keeps the kindred kindred

more than the eating of death
by teared eyes?—blusters through,
shatters window panes

as a train whistle shatters

the Autumnal prayers

from winter’s slumber.

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