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.