Dawning

The yard is landscaped in autumn.
I catch sight of myself in crushed leaves,
embers and the haze rising off the lake.


I am alive only in fields
of fire-orange poppies and the occasional
accidental brown-eyed susan.
I watch for Mars out the screen door, drunk with hope.

Every thought I have is brilliant
and years passing are no more
than minutes scurrying through the woodpile.


***

The tempered light spiderwebs,
leaving a round bruise in my otherwise perfected life.
What can I offer? A life


like an accident scene, a barreling freight train now derailed.
The season outside my window becomes winter.


***

It occurs to me that I am no longer delicate.

I lap water from the dog’s dish, an option
on the way to heaven.
                                    I can’t answer to love
or death; the two are symbiotic now.

But the fish in their bowls are coming to
after months of swimming in sludge.


c. Melissa K. Dalman, 2007