as the trees distinguish themselves
it is easier to imagine I know
what Rilke meant when he wrote
Beauty is the beginning of terror
nights in the 40s
the grass slowing down
the coming of winter
one sure thing in this life
sure as age follows youth
runaway time and the rest
I shut down the saw
and head for the house
sawdust in my vest pockets
the world gone suddenly quiet
pleased by the look of log ends
stacked in the woodshed
annual rings concentric
yes yes yes we were foolish
but let's call it love and still
I see you here a lifetime ago
a walnut bangs off the sheetmetal roof
Startles me back to the present
flocking robins on the wire
bronzed by sunset
solidago going hoary and bowing
shedding cold rain in the field
goldfinches losing their luster
the world growing darker
finches evenings the field and me
It is needful to have night in one's body
said Robinson Jeffers being a poet
and I say Welcome
At the end of September
—Click on the last line for a song by Leonard Cohen.
