Hear that?  the sound of the expanded world,
the bubble stretched new beyond the circle,
the stillness, the clarity of noises:
the train out of sight, and voices
I know are only speaking quietly.
This is how I tell it’s fall, now.
That, and the light—
thin and sharp, drafted in clear shafts,
pencil marks almost visible
through the wash. Everything’s waiting.
You can hold up your hand and see through it.
Never mind that it’s hot, still. That lies.
Listen, you can hear faint ticking—
the creaking of the universe, I swear—
the sighing of many small creatures
working against time, the groaning
deep within the earth as it hurtles
us all toward winter.


(As published in the chapbook Just Following the River)