Sunday, September 2, 2018


Here they come     again.
The long days    suddenly impaled
on    some    thorn

one       long      shade

on my evening walk
at Lake Chabot
passing newts
passing ferns,

I stoop       for a look
for       a whiff
for     a bit of joy
and    then

a well-known cry--
I lift my eye to

a tree branch
falling to the ground--

the voice of winter,
following me around.