Whalemouth

The Equinox is here: a whale's mouth
that yawns as dark as winter, half as wide
as the year's span. Sunlight, trending south,
disappears like goldfish sucked inside
and swallowed. I’d throw pepper in the face
of coming fall, and make that monster sneeze--
but with my lousy luck, I'd get, in place
of extra summer, half-drowned prophecies
meant for Nineveh. Sign of the times
in an election year? Unwritten borders
have been crossed, existential crimes
committed. Warnings might just be in order.
We'll know it's time for action, not for speech
if autumn throws up Jonah on the beach.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside