by Karen Mulvahill
Behind stripped trees
the low sun sets fire to a pond
that lay dark all summer.
Houses appear
like faces gazing
through bony fingers.
Fringed grasses sway
the way gossiping girls
toss hair behind lacy fans.
Sparrows quiver on the line
like crooked letters scrawled
on blank sky.
Liturgical in purple
royal asters cast
yellow eyes while
goldenrod flames
like votives lighting
a crypt.
A woman steps out
memories faded
the way the barn
has become a color
unfamiliar.
Feather-haired crane
on spindly legs
awkward creature of flight
grounded.