where a tree

sheds its red

and a breeze


scuffs a leaf

across the road,

and it flutters


on a stone

nicked by the blade

of a mower,


and the chopped growth

slowly turns to brown,


the sun is late

and level with the fence

when an engine hums,


a dog lopes

across the road,

and a bumper hits it


with a thump and yelp

that leaves a jet of blood

on its pelt and paws


sprawled in the weeds

while a cloud passes

like a puff of breath,


and beyond the fence

the sun flares and sets


at the level of your eyes.

Introduce yourself to The New Criterion for the lowest price ever—and a receive an extra issue as thanks.

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 34 Number 4, on page 45
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