All Saints Day

Red hawk cries once
offering himself from the top branch,
hands spread in blessing

over the clearing
among turning trees,
flame and ash of leaves,
breath of wind.

One cry and my heart is pierced
by many colors,
the day is changed.

The sanctified don’t specialize in piety,
they live as they are made to be,
let the calm fire burn in them
and trust the rest.


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