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.

10-9-2016

The edge of the Milky Way.

You could strop it sharper
If you had the time.

It would be easy,
That edge against
All those others:
Waiting, silence among them.

But there was no time,
The dusks too soon dawn,

And those step-stones
Each night
Lulling you and
Your friend's father

Out
From the shore

To the bottom of
Lake Michigan.