I want to tell you, because you’re away, that

 



I want to tell you, because you’re away, that

 

it is dark yet and a week

to November a week

and a day.  those folks I know

 

will grow more in their bones

they’ll coat themselves

against the cold and go

 

out onto the stony shoals where

just moments only moments

ago a late fawn and her still

 

mother doe stood to look in

the kitchen window, the dawn

light, the wife measuring

 

one and two and two more spoons

of espresso grind, test the tap

with two fingers and a thumb

 

and cant and decant.  all

the ritual ablutions to stave

this chill.  but oh to breathe

 

the same very same air, a chuff

still hovering, the two deer

disappeared as soon as the latch

 

is lifted and the sun yet

hovering underfoot of the mountain

and the red in the maples

 

waiting to show off their tiny night

diamonds frozen on every

dendritic vein, shivering…

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