old Octobers

i miss old octobers
when the fall hung with
red and orange promises

before fault lines in our backyard
became visible
when the root of my faith was hope,
and not doubt

but now i perch
in the mouth of a whale
always waiting to be swallowed

the sirens taunt me with song
it sounds like a stillborn baby crying

“be blessed, be blessed
however you can in this life
be blessed”

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