Weather flipflops, making wildlife restless,
children restless, dogs and dads, dreams and days,
whole winded nights restless. Then time changes, too.
The backward hour breaks something loose, like crows
(so Poe) massing out back, yard fluid black,
until a door’s crack sends shadows to air,
and noise flies limb to limb. The great tree’s gold
mottles, manic with omen calls forecasting.
Here howls change as dogs, quick to nose glass, whine
at doors. Here the raw gale, a magician’s trick
wall spinning. Night rain, a blizzard. Leaves’ luck,
a clinging desolation. Here autumn gives
broadly, takes plenty. What the rake turns up:
damp clumps, two girls, a much-wanted feather.