A perfect fall day

For perfection lay not

in the opt-

i-

mal-

suffusion of color,

but in the anticipation thereof.

A happy thought!

until I thought,

If this green is perfect,

then perfect is past,

on the day I should’ve seen

this day coming.

Long slow fall

The boy in the window

where the sun is shining

does not see me.

Nor does he hear

the leaf blower. (I’d like

not to, too, even if

it’s electric.)

There’s skittering and

a bird I don’t know

and more in the time

that this happened.

In that long slow fall

you could almost —

you almost thought the cold

would never come.