Sonnet for the New Moon of November

Hail, bright crescent, curving knife of evening,
whose silver edge cuts like the breathless gale
that rattles branches leafless by howling,
and fells such trunks as are not sound and hale.
Chipmunk huddles underneath verdant yew.
Crows croak to each other seeking the dead.
Signatures of frost, writ on morning dew,
foretell first snowfall. All songbirds are fled:
phoebe and wren, robin and whippoorwill
must warble their trills somewhere — but not here.
Four more moons, and this forest cover will
erupt with beetles and bees. For now, deer
shall wander under your widening gaze,
that strips autumn bare like bark beneath adze.

The house is getting to the point of looking good. I have to go do the grocery shopping for Thanksgiving dinner today, early this afternoon rather than later. Planning to go to poetry in Providence tonight. Not sure what else is on the agenda.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.