Maple leaves turn black in the courtyard.
Light drives lower and one bluejay crams
our cold memories out past the sun,
each time your traces come past the shadows
and visit under my looking-glass fingers
that lift and block out the sun.
Come—I’ll trace you one final autumn,
and you can trace your last homecoming
into the snow or the sun.
Annie Finch, “Final Autumn” from Calendars, published by Tupelo Press. Copyright © 2003 by Annie Finch.  Reprinted by permission of the author.

Annie Finch

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from Poem of the Day http://bit.ly/2gHp6BH

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