Equinox

Autumn  does not disrupt  the household.

She steps in quietly wearing 

her gray apron and sleeves.

She hasn’t blushed the leaves or frosted the lawn;

but instead tests the earth.

Her fingers pinch the soil,

and measure the length of feathers

scattered near the pines.

The ground is dry and  migrant birds

are ready for passage. The wind quickens

with her cool breath. I smell rain and watch

a  lizard crawl up the stone wall

taking refuge under our  roof.

Cobwebs hang there

protecting dust and secrets

but distorting any hint of light.