Lemon drops on milky clouds

bound this wistful field above

pewter lakes — ¡but wait! ¡Look now!

¿How’d this specter enter such

verdant film now ill, when it

wasn’t there before. Before I

eat my harvest, fix on this

ray of sunlight staged for sore eyes.

Superstitions won’t sway trees;

what a day to buy tea leaves —

October Friday 13.

Saw outside a lonely time

shadow firs are teasing me

breezily. Their scents make pine

every time all kinds, seasoning.

Under skies as pure as opal,

bright night dimmed by grim surroundings,

worse by wind, won’t hush, but yodels.

Houses still for nature’s crowning.

For my birthday, I would like

tons of air a year for life —

swear to heart won’t waste this time.

Sweet or spicy, ¿who can scent

brimstone watercolor flooding

buckets brimmed of pavement meant

bent below the toes of bloody

skullcap shrooms in dusty noon —

{ guess I best bring out the broom } —

tombs so late & all so soon,

cheering chilly autumn gloom?

Colored gray won’t keep me sober;

drink before the season’s over —

To you ghosts, let’s toast October.