Sun caught in maples
on the first of November —
the chill comes in quick.

Red in the sunlight,
wall-screw moss grows in soft lines
like a universe.

It’s coming undone,
the tree that lost all its leaves,
shadow in daylight.

Peace at the river,
deer feed on the other side,
birdsong in all ears.

The in-between time—
trees that feel like spring or fall,
more light coming through.

What would I become
if I laid down by this tree?
Sun, teaching me things.

Snowbirds in and out
of the yellow autumn field,
their chatter comes first.

November shadows,
long, confiding days begin—
new poems in fields.

Trees draw in sun,
changing at the cold lake’s edge,
filling it with leaves.

Other than birdsong,
only the sound of the leaves
in our thankful ears.

Forget me, forget,
everything’s bigger than me,
forget me, forget.

Sun changes the woods,
wind breaks the lake reflection,
leaves on the surface.

I say to let go,
the heartbreak and the breakers,
waiting for a sign.

The deepest season,
orange trees sink into the
cold, gray, glassy lake.

Dark October clouds
during our afternoon walk—
wild carrot still blooms.

Big October skies
breaking apart every day,
and rearranging.

October sun—
warm trees let go of warm leaves,
the light is yellow.