on a field
of ripe tomatoes
the empty wooden crates

every place taken
on the finch feeder
September rain

split milkweed pods —
getting to know him
at his memorial

a leaf —
its descent stopped
by a child

Wembley Stadium —
a blackbird sings
to empty seats

Labor Day —
scraping mold off
government cheese

breathe in
breathe out
autumn moon

autumn dusk —
a fine layer of mist
over the cricket pitch

first mouthful
of a warm cider doughnut
scarlet hillsides

moon at the window . . .
I cut another eye
from the potato