Smell of chimney wood and the thick scent of myrtle and hydrangea blooms in the cool October and the milkweeds dripping their lovely way home. Time for the heart and its beating again. Time for the blood pumping and the old mind of thought and thoughtlessness. Time for wakefulness, though it bleeds unmercifully and unbearably breaks your life. Come now. Past the lover sleeping with her betrayals night after night, scattering you into those thousand pieces. In the end she will darken in her own shame. Go on. Breathe again. Live prosperous and well. Forgive the old voices: Your mother leaving this world, her fingers tugging your ankles from the precipice, “Save me!” The eyes dark. The terror terrible, and nothing to be done. Forgive the sweet moon of yourself sleeping in the loose pocket of the dark — so many nights. Forgive your feet wandering lost as the world went on well enough without you. Go to the gate. The rain has returned. And the geese exploding wild over the river. Everywhere the world has been praying its soft prayer. Playing its rare and wild music. Longing for you to arrive alive again. Desiring for you to love the one sleeping in your own bed. Wishing for you only this moment.