James Schuyler
Rated • 1 review • painting, poetry • buffalo.edu
That one maple by the house now
is almost bare. The pond
turns greenish-black. Downstairs
someone (you) shuts a door. Evenings
in Vermont, the fire dies in the sky,
the pond goes altogether black,
and indoors all is coziness. I study
the pattern in a red rug, arabesques
and squares, and one red streak
lies in the west, over the ridge.
--James Schuyler
