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.
I like them
Mar 21, 1:39am
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