ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 4
LATE IN SEPTEMBER
the bigger sky
making latitudes visible
a squirrel squirts up a tree
carrying gold light in his mouth
the box that can't contain us
is on the shelf off the shelf
the wind from down south
is confident of its rain
cold settles in next door
when we walk up the alley
we wind up unexpectedly
not winding up anywhere
when we wake up we dally
the gold light is crushed by nightfall
we can live this way
till another way appears
the withering on my face
is what we have in common
that won't stop here