A rounded top
Prismatic light
A wilting pumpkin
Winter in sight
Windows low
With broken hinges
Sun is meek
Here in New England.
Tendrils tickling oily glass
Fingerprints of summer passed
Faded leaves with crunch
No longer plump
Which my flesh will do
For the next 6 months
As I strain to work
My body hunched
Over a vessel of blue light
Screens large, medium, small
I think of my garden
And compost stalls.
Canines wear their coats
And burrow under plush
Rodents follow suit
In the rafters they rush.
An unfinished floor
With stripping paint
Spiders.
Spiders!
Once foe now mate.
And Venus, she traps
But blackens from chemicals
The filter is faulted
Our water left caustic.
I dust and shine
To no avail
The woods reclaim
This domed jail.
About the Creator
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