They know what we don’t,
snow is coming in two days —
just keep together.

In this darkest time,
splitgill blooms like plumped pinwheels,
geese roost on the lake.

The sun nearly set,
he swam across the river —
calmly, quietly.

The sky has gone blank,
we go into that forest,
coyotes hidden.

Ginkgo goes yellow,
lime, gold, egg, amber, lemon —
holding, holding on.

His soul leaves him here,
wind blowing and going cold —
the found dragonfly.

Milkweed mountain range —
inside, I see us walking,
as in all summers.

Gold-tinged heads break out
through summer earth, cold again —
meals for winter deer.

Hawks pass back and forth,
their calls bounce and hide in the trees
and in the river.

A robin was here
in the reaching dogwood arms,
leaves yellowing fast.

Lucky for these days —
walking the block at lunchtime,
wind blows in our ears.

Both napping, one wakes
to keep watch in the cold pond —
she’s still half asleep.

There’s no early grave,
I’ve made my own memory —
I see it sometimes.

Shadows crawl the ground
at the foot of the forest,
my dog craves life scents.

The trees are talking,
telling last-minute secrets —
not seeing ahead.

The wind makes handclaps
out of the round Poplar leaves,
we walk to beat rain.

The rolling cloudbank
feels like it’s at the center,
telling of a storm.

Perched in the Cosmos,
low sun reflects in his wings,
the October bee.

On the pond today,
a great blue heron fishes,
legs blurred underneath.

We leave ourselves back
and take ourselves forward, too —
leaf, bud, souls intact.