In the wind I lose the tumble of bone-white rocks down the hillside in summer

So near holidays. For now, celebratetheir nearness. Brush the cat hair offof coats, collect the hackberry leaves.Winter threatens is unfair; it menaceslike sleep, like hunger. Cheer a killingfrost but mourn the lettuce, the orchidyou snap, an accident, not meaning tobe an ender. Less time now for re

Sky grey as gunmetal,cross breeze cold front raw and cuttingfrom the west, afternoon light thinand abstinent. This has becomeour November, monthwhen I sit down to writesome catastrophe of a poemon the warm broth, sageand lemon stuffed autumn birdsmall fingerling, loose leaf dragonwelllong tongued wa

 Lord: it is time. Bright summer fades away.Let sundials darken as your shadows grow.Set loose your winds across the open fields. Let the last fruit still ripen on the vine,And give the grapes a few more southern daysTo warm them to perfection, and then pressTheir earthy sweetness into hea

the murky water veiled those pleas the history books obscure as when numbers steal prisoners’ names.

Why did you welcome it into the house?