ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 3
FIRST WEEK OF NOVEMBER
the sky crowded with gray
each day at waking
covers the earth with a dim shine
moist and warm the air feels like spring
leaves down bark wet
trees look like a somber audience
here to witness in their dark suits
what is done by the sweep of cold air
which overnight drives the clouds away
to the same nowhere they came from
the sun's brilliance piercing
everywhere next day tender plants wilting
when the light strikes
their gone season
come now
and where in all this do I find
an emblem of myself or my fate?
clouds appearing and vanishing
the witness of trees
the summer things whose final blow
comes from the sun they lived for
or that very sun most brilliant
when its existence is naked
or the sky itself full then empty
empty then full its state always changing?