Oh no—
now we’re in for it, everything’s slamming shut,
closing shop, the leaves on the cottonwood are crying
fuck it and letting go in the wind, the cold
is coming, winter storms are massing at sea,
morning ice on the deck and the dog skids off
in a blur of legs, then it rains and rains and rains,
and the plague is upon us, strange fevers and aches,
the body spelling it out, impossible to ignore,
you’re in a machine consuming itself,
and this morning walking out, you look up
at the persimmon tree for the first time in weeks
and notice all the leaves are gone, and there they are—
persimmons—fiery globes, hosannahs and lauds,
and you can’t help yourself, admit it, even sick
and miserable, mired in the dreck of winter,
you reach out your hand, take hold of the fruit,
oh yes, there’s another world, there’s a sun
within the sun, yes, kindness is real,
oh yes, blessings are everywhere.