Seasonal Slippage
Another old shoe claps
down the steps,
the sun makes fraudulent rings
on the window—once more we
set up the garden
over mud and stone,
arrange for budding and decay.
Accept the seasonal slippage
of leaving into coming back
as days slide by themselves
scattering motions
we have made before.
Knee-deep in light
our cattle dream.
At dusk what we know
and keep on knowing
multiplies,
settles over roots
we’ve freshly fastened in.
Darkness beds the next go-round.
Let them light signal fires
on the hills ahead;
we are entangled here forever,
in days that return and return.
