In Apple Time

I picked apples and the last tomato,

but there are still plenty in stores.

And they will be there all winter,

but my brain and body knows it’s

apple time and some things are ending.




Winterwood Fire

Morning comes and the celestial gears click,

the tension almost equal parts day and night.

You say autumn, but not until tonight,

when no one will think of it

but for smoke from my winterwood fire.