September: Wrong to call it timid,
I remind myself, shambling
into work. More of an alertness
reflected in the bright black eye
of starlings. Flocks massive and light
in the sumac at the edge of the lawn.
Or Tibetan prayer flags attentive
to the smallest change in breath
coming now out of the door
labeled north. I can see
the whole valley as the leaves
give up. Morning is dark. The heart
crumples and expands
like a paper bag.
It wakes in a dark room,
my September body,
with light trickling in
the windows of my eyes.
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