The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
Like a pistil after the petals go.
The thunder mutters louder & more loud
With quicker motion hay folks ply the rake
The emotions go somewhere. Like water, they find
their own depth and go somewhere.
The salmon-smudged sunset unravels December
as Saturn comes in to make judgments,
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
. After Apple Picking My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill Beside it, and there may be two … Continue reading