fall equinox
stacking the hand-me-downs
into equal piles

I skirt around
a stone cutter’s rhythm
autumn sunset

almost evening —
the paper vendor sleeps
on old news

hometown visit —
I fill my pocket
with acorns

playground swings —
a strong wind replaces
the children

field mice
forage the corn bin
. . . harvest moon

bottoms up —
    that amber glow
        of autumn sun

dark September day
stillborn given a name
for the funeral

no cicadas
no double dutch . . .
park bench peeling

a rusty still
by the dry creek bed —
blood moon rising