bough of red leaves shelters floating mosquitoes, a chair, and this poet
tender filaments of web traced from grass to grass revealed in full sun
nuthatch, upside down, sparrows, many, cardinal, female—small fawn dog
as this November wind, sadness gusts and blusters and in it I sit
cider gold sunset spills across dove and winter white—not yet, not yet
hours of silent cloud breaks now—migrating sandhill’s rich embroidery
with the falling sun leaf after leaf journeys down— singular, unique
breath of moon beyond network trees— home from work
clarity at last leafless branches decorate the sky—and their birds!
not a single tree without it’s flaw—each scar equal to sunset’s warm light
teddy bear— love circling back to its source