November

No bounce in the lengthening shadows across the stippled earth, no light

Comes glittering in . . .

Coldness oozes

Out of porous November, the fields, dull orange and russet

Under mounds of haze, scraped of worth.

The lonely stalklands become

Evanescent and arid.

My neighbor’s garbage is out on his drive,

Flaccid white plastic bag. The red

Draw-string is limp,

Sulking with the faded corn.

Yellowed sheaths blow across empty plots.

Crows stalk the dead lands in herds,

Lifting detritus with their beaks.

The combine groans, beating the last of the chaff.

CRA

11/10/2006

8/26/2007