Edge of night

You sit on the end of a bench

with a book and warmed over coffee

On the other end is a pine cone

you don’t begrudge it space and let it stay

In a late afternoon woods

warblers sing in bushes

cardinals call back and forth

You watch a leaf pick itself up off the ground

race along a mossy sidewalk

and leap into a pile of branches

hoping more dead will join them

Light tries to escape the coming dark

climbs to the top of trees

and flings itself into iridescent clouds

Nearby a squirrel chatters at you

maybe the pine cone is his

you promise to leave soon

You explain you have just finished

a book by Adrienne Rich

and not one poem resonates

but there were lines of magic

Magic as a pine cone sitting quietly on a bench

a leaf dancing on mossy sidewalks

light’s martyrdom in the clouds

branches waiting for ghosts to come by

and a squirrel telling you to leave

A man in a black coat with a black dog

on a black leash walks by

you feel a chill as street lights come on

and dry leaves rustle on the edge of night

1-28-20