Even Though
I like to stay until the sun sets
on the October fields, wheat grass
and milkweed shimmering
toward sundown. The great apple
tree in the center mandaled by
a fresh mown path. Everything else
a tall sea of golden-brown swaying
toward auburn, before fading to earth.
But now, this field couldn’t be more
alive—every stem, stalk, and blade,
every stubborn oak leaf still clinging,
even though we are well into autumn,
even though it’s almost dusk, and the
forest beckons toward darkness.
Somewhere on another part of Earth
someone is waking to a bright orange
sun; whole countries are halfway to spring.
A wild lily—ivory, yellow, and fuchsia—
is right now leaning over her morning
hillside as I breathe into dusk.
SUSAN JEFTS’s full-length collection of poetry, Breathing Lessons, will be published this summer by Shanti Arts. Read more.