Evaporation Season

Michiana fog is thick gray, it sticks like mist
to the face, white-hot October, rising ghosts
out of the earth to mix with frozen particles

outside the atmosphere, orange glow with
too much time on land, leaving us all behind,
seems a common way to go…

October is the silver of the months, pinewood
along the tractor roads, out-of-focus rainbows
over tarnished fields every other day, then

rolling off the tongue in frost, coating heirloom
tomatoes, black with crevasses reaching from
bent stems, even they are crying let me go

Before the scent of wet rotting fir and burnt
leaves is replaced with white water, and
October is the gray fox grazing the family

corn-field in the shadows of moon, teeth marks
along Indian corn. When first frost hits, he always
Takes the plow (less rusted) and circles stalks,

Seeing his farm from a redbird’s eye, he coils
the growling plow into magician’s hats and
Jack-o-lanterns for the neighbors. This year

I hope he paints me a crystal ball surrounded
by orchids, so when I get lost debating the in
and out door, orb-shaped patterns will guide

me to the cards where I flip over The Sword,
slicing easy as pie, the time I can’t wash away
salt skin, and you come around, touch the curve,

early light and my left eye, pull thread that leads me
into the night. The moon is too bright,singing, these
shining ghosts are all for me,and I’m not jealous at all.


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