“Long Shadows of Europe’s Big Banks”
“Royal Dutch Shell Posts a Loss”
“Cod Stock Fails to Recover”
Flooding in Baghdad
the Tanzanian Presidency
drowned bodies washing up on Lesbos
Chanel, Doir, Tiffany
and a giant Louise Bourgeois spider.
All of this, thirty-six copies of yesterday’s paper
and a stack of others, goes under
emulsion from the fish hatchery
horseshit from the stables
leaves down from our willow and ash.
Maybe later this will look like a garden.
But this afternoon the sun comes in low
flat and quiet from the south.
Hanging this final laundry of the season;
jammies and things reach down from the lines
like the hides of small exotic animals.
And the four bows of a trampoline frame unhooped
stacked into the corner of a shed like great whalebones
or a soft drum to be stretched and played again in the spring.
Could this be how it feels,
or even how it is, near the end?
Each day shorter than the one before,
closer and more intense.
Even brighter toward winter.
The moon. A woodpecker. Flies. Snow.