Thursday, June 22
AUTUMN
In the evening,
every arrangement feels intentional.
You add a few yourself,
nailing leaves against the fence
as the crows call the season
down around you,
the moon crowding itself
behind a cloud
like someone finishing
a cigarette.
The porch swing creaks,
and there is no name you know
for this feeling
that the world is full
of just about everything
you haven't lost yet.
(Chris DeWeese)