mid-November dark —
we fill in what we can't see
from memory

sounds of ice scraping
sliding out over the day —
winter drawing close

the little dog I found
while out on my walk was lost
three doors down from home

the farm stand lines up
a summer's worth of honey  —
this season's last sale

why do I recall
every word of the song
that played as she left?

even the wisteria
stops trying 
to extend itself

air that stays cool
even as it fills our lungs —
we quicken our pace

stretching Hallowe'en —
we leave our giant spider
dangling one more night

end of season work —
we turn the hedge trimmings
into a hiding spot