Autumn is cool enough for Hermes to don his winged cap and guide us
back to where we cannot choose between mythology and materiality.
Like the universe, we arrive at a singular ending. Stepping between
stones, toward my affection for these brown and golden
plants dying while waiting for winter's harvest of rain,
from beneath a straw hat, Vincent asked me where
I just came from."From the ridge," I said.
Then he asked, "How far back is it?"