As if we could focus on shadows,
As frost on the shingles
Foretold a bright day,
And fog lay so thick on the fields
We could tear it like bread with our hands.
One season becomes another,
The mantis tilting her head In the weeds
As if she meant others no harm,
As if what we loved could stick to our sleeves
like beggar ticks traveling with us,
As if all we remembered had actually happened,
And the screams of coyotes deep in the woods
Had nothing to do
With the early coming of night.
