Get out and walk the icy air
And don’t just talk of… in a bit….
Lift up your head, the spine, you know,
Stare down the thick, the wirr-warr of
Thick branches now that they have lost
Their leaves. The light is bronzen,
The afternoon fades. Lord, this wind bites!
And fall’s habits made you neglect
To grope for the gloves of yesteryear
Back there, somewhere, shelved forever,
Or it seems, high up at the back
Of the front hall’s closet where old
Baseball caps build a totem pole.