10-16-2016

There, the low gold glow - upheld over unharvested

Fields along the bled-black journeys - north, west - undid locks.

And the hid way through went clear when daylight left our dusks.

The elms and maples rose up in frightful silhouette.

Crew changes went wrong in fogs; October lost our heads.

Someone said, "Hold close what God promised to you bastards."

And then it was dizzying dives into pools of black.

Some nights I build fires in the backyard dark, after work.

I remember, like some still do, what it meant to hope.