We went to the mountains to view dying leaves,
Dull this year, against a radiant sky.
The milkweed pod hides its secret symmetries and fly-away wisps
Under a pale, craggy skin.
A wooly bear with hardly a bit of black
Nibbles its way round my fingers.
At the end of the track one farm has the best view
Of rolling ribbons, red yellow orange green—
They live in town.
We saw the perihelion circle there, before we came.
It’s clearer here, a thin floating elastic, enveloping hills,
Milkweed, bears, farms, and us
At its center.
Two sun dogs blink. The blue dome whirls.
One wide band of cloudy blue is so cold
I could skate on it.
October 23, 2009
(copyright by author)