Little Tips of Putrefaction on Some Petals
Three leaves fall. The oak seems undiminished
In grandeur. Four peonies are dying
Back in yellow. Brown acorns have finished
Their suicides for life. A hawk, flying
His shiver on the sky, is unconcerned
With symbol, simile and metaphor.
Our squirrels are gone. We think that they were burned
Out last winter by the harshest cold for
Three generations, but we do not know.
The council killed them for some reason that
We haven’t heard about, perhaps. No glow
Can pierce this morning’s mist, so gray and flat.
..Inside, my globe chrysanthemum beside
….The laptop has decided hope has died.