Place Setting

Geese line flying

low under a half moon,

copper sun paving

the west road.

I’m hours, a lifetime,

from your side of the street,

perspective a weather vane

on a wind blown barn.

Safe, in your arms,

is the artichoke heart,

the table set in reflective glass.

Cold water pours from the ocean

on the burning forest

of daughters known

daughters lost,

and a son’s boots sort the path.

An afternoon star claims

the early dark of the season,

branches prepare to bare

the burden of falling life.

Unless the squeal of children

echoes our prayer,

a vote of confidence

is just a road sign, torn.