October Cobwebs
screen the garden in the late
heat, the lowering
light, like lines
to nowhere, nets
of glimmer toward whose
savage unseen
centers
weak flies strut
or stumble,
and like flags
of dissolution,
each one lovely in its tired
silver
as the loosened
hold of leaves
or dark emerging
bulk of trunks
and branches
over which the story of
a thousand disappearing
tenants
seems still,
now,
to move and breathe.
Structure
24 lines · 8 stanzas