ORION

The night air turns my breath
To puffs of smoke.  Tattered ghosts
Of leaves cling to the trees.

As the sunset fades, you arrive
Every autumn without fail without
Fanfare, your crisp outline polished

Into everyone’s memory.  Once every
One knew your name.  As we knew all
the residents of the night sky.  The names

And stories – the rising and setting of
Planets.  Mars was red and Venus cloudy
Jupiter big and Saturn encircled by rings.

That was before the sky was invaded and
Satellites sent spinning off into the unknown.
Space was declared open for exploration.

Our rockets landed on the moon, our flag
Was planted in a sea of moon dust.  Our
Nights moved with the swinging arcs of

Contrails as the black background grew
Dimmer and the constellations we had
Learned to recognize faded and blurred
Which we blamed on our aging eyes and
Not the over-abundant advance of technology.

THE POOR SOULS
      
November when we pray for the dead
For souls not quite risen, or drawn too
Closely to the pull of the earth – reluctant to
Cast away ties so carefully woven.  Some
Might be hovering by the place where their
Bodies came to rest or  perhaps the scene of some
Long ago happiness.  We might feel them reach out
To us as if they were still in the same room
And watching the same old movie on TV
Weeping along with us when the story
Begins to turn sad.