Fall

FALL

Searchlight-spot huge white
moon in the blue morning,
September balm withered--    trees
sanguine, give up 
in the thick haze.  Through
factory windows beside the train see
inverted glowing buttercup 
lamps light who knows what.
Woman in the seat opposite
metronomes, syllables spurt
from her lips like the rail shrieks
as light-flowers are prized 
open by the dawning day,

September, never any rest 
for the dead, 6AM the moon 
steals away, guilty.  Summer 
drops down to the curb 
with the illegals waiting 
for some work. 

From my chapbook Turning, soon to be available as part of the Dusie 2008 Chapbook exchange project.