The Living Book

All Souls morning, a pot of mums on the porch step and a waning Moon a finger from Mars. The flower has been keeping a secret about the dark.

In the old Irish reckoning this is the first day of winter, and down at the creek the oyster shells are going home.

On the first morning of the old Gaelic winter, down at the creek the old shells are holding up the new.

A poet turned away from three Swedish farms on the elves' night, and a persimmon seed that keeps the whole next tree folded inside. A Samhain almanac about what a family keeps.

A thousand years ago a poet found three farm doors barred on the elves' night. For Samhain, an almanac about what a seed and a family keep inside.

For forty-six years a porter on Majorca answered every knock as if the Holy were on the step. A day of doors, the tent in the heat of the day and the fires gathered before Samhain.

A porter answered every knock for forty-six years as if the Holy were on the step. Today's almanac is a day of doors.