September 18, 2003

September 18, 2003

Mars has slipped another several thousand miles

from Hubble's dark eye

or we have withdrawn, perhaps,

my wife's red eyes removed

from the black hills we named home

too soon, beneath her

dark roots and my grayer poems,

confessional though un- repentant.

It is too early for the jack-o-lantern's glow on our

back porch.

Call him festive, but vaguely

ungrateful for the first cool snap

to settle this far south

while out east Isabel knocks on boarded

windows.

Oh, this great unstoppable ellipsis

venturing toward empty sky... my

dog's black tail stirring night grass

until

our daughters sleep in the eye

and the television calms the abandoned couch,

Tomorrow will be warm again—

don't bother, weatherman assures,

covering the roses,

that's weeks if not months away.