Open Season

That wood splitting thud,
November bright, a dove weighs
on the crossroad wire, all saints
enjoy coffee in bed, some alone,
some not.

The calendar blank as a cat.
Trash haul racket another reason
to close curtains, the news today--
a cake from scratch, and a candle
posing for pictures.

Marigolds ring the fence in morning bell balls,
the dog, finally out, sniffs pumpkins
still whole on the porch. Your birthday
makes the year come true; a gift,
a wish, the sky an open singing card,
signed by God.
Will SchmitComment