frost in the night, shining at dawn, melting at noon
flowers give up the ghost on black funeral stalks
I come with the clippers and cart away my dead
light shining through windows and cracks in the old barn
makes patterns with the beams, the weathered boards, the dust,
draws my attention, turns me to some mystery’s heart
the tender of an empty shrine, that’s what I am
the gods may be here, though the devotees have gone
still the sleeping ground is alive, birds feast on seeds
hawks roll over on the wind as if on a bed
big spruce lies on the lawn, a dogwood crushed beneath
in the same storm’s wake, downed trees, playful birds of prey
some are planters, some tenders, others harvesters
of a field, a time, a place. After the fall falls
who watches, sings, and sweeps until it’s time to sleep
Elizabeth, the land is your wordless witness
forms pass, trees and buildings fall, people come and go
stop trying to stop them, bear witness back, be here
(assembled and completed on Halloween, 2012)