Autumn Leaves
volume 7 number 6

One Abandoned Farm

Where Summer bends
to recessive Suns,
Fall sets in in moons.

I've seen nearby
who knows whose abandoned
farm's bisque goldenrods

where peeved crickets
twitter between rafters
warped akimbo

amidst soloists,
gusts whistling so
so they muzzle flies.

There's, before sunset
sets in on goldenrods in
vermilions, calm.

Now, you see? What
a moon's this stalks that barn's
ramshackled ribs?

Soon, one paltry stream
moonlit, ripples mottled
in its loner field

where before you know
fireflies in their thousands switch
on and off to flames.

Are we fit to know
the raison d'être of such
wee stars on Earth?

Shine on us too,
Harvest Moon, two
silhouettes come close.

This midnight's like
silvered swans who've drifted by
their haunt's own lightshades.

One candle in
your mansard beams, one
silvered light on me.

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