October, to fully wake under the birch's gold
corridor, would admit our cells once wavered
as light in the dark overture. The star-nosed mole
retains proof her particles are not far from the celestial.
Ad-libbed red, a solitary maple unhooks downward spirals
that burn with the argument. Stargazers upturn lily-heads
in a vendor's bucket. Even the cracked windshield
of an abandoned car bears the asterisk-print of a stone.
A long time resident of Seattle, I am an editor for Floating Bridge Press. My poems, especially "Evidence," try to cross cultural influences and ethnic traditions in an attempt to be inclusive. Linda Greenmun