New Quarter

We pass through equinox as through
a swinging door, into a new garden,
this one faded and disheveled with October.

But what awaits me here is what always has,
it's I who've changed, moved to a new quarter.
It's my leaves streaked with gold and rust

and the new dews of fall. I turn above
the stationary earth. I need to be pruned,
mulched, and settled in for the winter.

On this side of the door there are still
a few days, golden but too short for all
the work that needs doing. I will

fall short as always, do what I can, before
winter comes, and with it sleep.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside