The last warm day of the year
The October sun rests on a loblolly pine.
Late afternoon, slight breeze. River
of leaves sliding along the street side.
I am too old, says the sun, for this: I get
up later every day and I’m tired earlier.
The pine squints at the sun’s single ring
of fire: Try having as many rings as I do
says the pine. Try living in full seasons
instead of skating above it all. Try,
just once, standing still.