On days
when the veil
is a bit

I want to
wrap you in
the warm fabric
of my love.


When I
came up against
the idea
of losing you,

I walked to a field
and stayed,
until everything
became quiet.


Let me take you
back into
my arms, let
our tender

bodies soften
beneath leaves
that float down
like questions.

Harvest Eclipse

Each year, I forget
how fearless
the eloquence of autumn,
these cell-humming yellows
that shatter the sky
in the sepia sunlight
of Septembers.

Again, winter is coming-
moving our bodies,
yours and mine,
one turn closer
toward that final night.
And despite this endless wheel,
or perhaps because if it,
my heart reaches up to the heavens
and erupts into one million
unexpected stars.

Give me the quiet
of a blood red moon,
pregnant in its proximity,
and no less sublime
for the darkness
it has become.


Sit around autumn’s table
with the heart so full
of sweetness

and of sorrow, and the fragrant
oven that warms you
like this subtle transformation

of friendships turning quietly
into family. Your loss reverberates
through the hearts of the others,

and the wine is passed,
and the chocolate is passed,
and the candles

push through the darkness
like the laughter that you still manage
to somehow find.

Late Autumn Morning

Morning Mist-Kit Hevron Hahoney

Painting:  Morning Mist by Kit Hevron Mahoney

Onetime oranges
and auburns melt
into the rising

landscape. There is
no denying
that the world 

is past the change.
But as you
find stillness 

beneath softened
something new

emerges quietly –
perhaps it is
the knowledge

of your own two feet,
and not of what has grown,
but rather, of what

has fallen away,
leaving you
the blessed opportunity

to be filled with
nothing but this
impeccable daybreak.