Halloween brings thoughts
of decay
and the permission to eat
chocolate.
Neringa ripples toward me
as I approach down the slope
of her wet leaves.
Immediately,
I want to consumate our movement–
drink her up,
have her take
me.
Neither will do,
so I continue up the road
on this Hallow’s Eve Day,
sensing the transparency
of the worlds
in my bones.
The air mysteriously moves
through
me,
mocking the illusion of
separation.
With eyes no longer
drawn up
by Autumn’s fiery reds,
my gaze
sinks
to the earth–
to her rich
colors of
death.
I float to
the place and beauty
of my own
mother’s
passing
until I discover a half-dozen
trees
missing
from the banks
of the pond–
beavers,
hired
to clear my view.
Turning toward home,
I find four trunks
huddled together,
branches wrapped around
each other’s
back,
bare–
except for lichen,
a soft, sickly green
creeping up each body,
dangling
from each limb.
On this dark day of souls
I wonder~
Does the ghost of sweet
Jesse
roam
these
hills
like me?
Kelly Salasin 
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