Autumn

Autumn Ruse
(Dexter, ME)

This day of autumn leaves and wind and haze enticed us,
The child and I went our and as our rustic ruse,
We took a rake, to form our plausible excuse.

The wind plays havoc with our work. The child is sober,
Although among the leaves, so many of them blown,
The tiny raking makes a small joke of its own.

This rustling drowns the good rich sound of our own silence
This motion interferes with looking at the sky;
Disrupts the nakedness of things that bare hills glorify.

Let those who know this clarity exonerate us.
Come, child, we’ll lie upon this pyre of leaves together
And look up at the rudiments of wind and weather.