OCTOBER

I

October --
its plangency, its glow

as of words in
the poet's mind

as of God in
the saint's.

II

I wept for your mother
in her pain, wept in
my joy when you were
born,
Maia,
that October morning.
We named you
for a star a star-like
poem sang.
I write this
for your birthday
and say I love you
and say October
like the phoenix sings you.

III

This chiming
and tolling
of lion
and phoenix
and chimera
colors.
This huntsman's
horn, sounding
mort for
quarry fleeing
through mirrors
of burning
into deathless
dying.

IV

Rockweight
of surprising snow

crushed
the October trees,

broke
branches that
crashing set
the snow on fire.

-- Robert Hayden