The Month of October

If there is a god
   it is October
If there is an eternal soul
   mine is the longest dusk
   flared gold
   traveling to the furthest quasar
If there is hope
   it is in the candy-scented night
   where any wonder may be revealed

October sifts the stars
   causing them to glitter
October lights the candle moon
October reminds the mirror to reflect
October causes wind
October is the campfire where
   fortunes are told
October walks the rim of void
October wears patchwork

The language of shadow
wraps up all the witches and apples
and chuckling leaves. No more words
remain to speak of kid-spells
and magic mists, fire-brained pumpkins
and skull moons, clouds stretching like
spider-lace and bare trees birthing dryads,
scarecrows dreaming of Armani suits
and the marble-eyed owl blinking
and the knowledge that the spirit wears
more than human flesh.

The heart rules the muse.
And I say:
My heart is field-fog and ghost chill running
lonely, long and lost with the
rushing wind bound up
in pine and salt and guttering flame,
burnt wax and caramel breath … all spiraling
toward the center of my unseelie

   There I live
   in the elixirs
   of October.

—Wendy Rathbone