The sunflowers have gone to seed.
A squirrel made off with the head of one
Holding it square in his little paws, like a sandwich.
The laying hen won’t lay, though she looks
Up to the job.
The moon went from small to half to full.
Popular opinion about the future turned sour again.
The gourds had swelled, and plump were the hazel shells.
The sun stayed hot, and shone and shone,
And burned up some of the mountains.
The moon went full and it turned blue.
Relations with the neighbors went south again.
When the leaves fall you can see straight into the kitchen,
You can see me, if something goes wrong with the dinner,
Stamping my feet like a child.
The light’s gone wan and thin as an egg white.
The ink stain on the sofa fades of its own volition.
The stabled animals settle and fluff.
The laying hen won’t lay, though she looks
Up to the job.
