So how's the weather?

High summer is a fleeting time.
And the pleasant coming of autumn
is the coming of a going.

Against the darkened purple sky,
and the strident columns of light,
and the empty bells,
winter settles,
staid but alarming,
like a slow slap.
And it lasts, bare,
it lasts and lasts. In its absent
presence it is completely
present
as if there were an internal relation
between the concept of desolation
and that of eternity.

In the Ivy by the Staircase

Last spring
Sandi squatted beside the staircase,
squirt pistol in hand,
as squirrels bounded past through the ivy
like breakdancers doing the snake.
Sandi had donned a purple sundress,
left her shoulders exposed,
and as class let out she
crouched, like someone from the FBI might crouch,
to ambush her crush.