On a bookstore shelf
 
I find a winter poem
 
scribbled in the dust.

 
 

Like a wounded elk
 
Lady Autumn slips away,
 
leaking her last breath.

 
 
 

finding a new shape
 
into which my darkness fits—
 
autumn slips away

 
 
 

As autumn winds down,
 
my neighbor scoops pine needles
 
from his rain gutters.

 
 
 

rainy autumn day—
 
reading obituaries
 
as I sip my tea

 
 
 

My father once drank
 
from the cup that I now drink—
 
deepening autumn.

 
 
 

Deepening autumn—
 
the seed catalogs are out
 
and I have big plans.

 
 
 

After Thanksgiving,
 
in a long, narrow garden,
 
one white rose still blooms.

 
 

Thanksgiving dinner–
 
the circle’s smaller this year,
 
our talk is thinner.

 
 

Windy autumn day—
 
the birches’ frilly gold skirts
 
have been blown away.