marquette (part two)

Gold autumn heaven
tilts with all those streets

one shoulder lowered
up under

orange lights
strung porch-to-porch,

plane of the River
gone slack
among the maples
and idled ways back home.

Hotshots treetops combines
moving under hollow-ground blades
of moonlight

spared as you,

your father's son,
sons' father,

needle spun
on
compasses
dropped face-down

in fields lain over iron
tended,
untended.