East Coker in autumn

The hollyhock is holding on, though we're reaching mid-November
the laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
I've been meaning to plant those poppies,
but only seem to be losing any tolerance for cold I might have had.

(All the best, I suppose, with the impending migration south.)

We pick up the pieces of these things, she reminds me
heartbreak, she means, and living through fire
not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
of death and birth
(we've been picking them up all our lives)

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
which shall be the darkness of G-d

Now looking you in the hazel eye
and we know that the hills and trees... are all being rolled away
the question is not one of protection,
but humility
the only wisdom we can hope to acquire
an unending exercise in trust.