Dispatch #170

Soon, autumn!

Late September Triptych 

1

Faint cricket chant
closer now 
as the room fills 
with darkness. 
And the walls fall 
in darkness. 
And the door, 
closed, appears 
to open in darkness. 
Bookcase submerged 
in darkness. 
Spines afloat 
in darkness. 
        Above the bed
a crucifix glints,
splintering the darkness.


2

Thunder’s guttural 
jolt—I drop
the prayer from my hands. 


3

Read the runes 
of roadside weeds: 

breeze-bent
yellow foxtail

anchored within 
tangled grass. 

The way light 
spears 
the gaps 

between waving 
night-green leaves: 

summer’s prism—
soon,
autumn’s collapse.