Sometime between poems,
when I was stuck
in the shoebox
of my workaday life,
the heavy heat dropped
through the bottom
of the wet paper bag
of summer, and by the time
I had driven home
and changed clothes
and carried out compost
and collected eggs,
it was autumn.

The wind-leaned maple
by the coop had turned,
and fall poured
through the treetops
like a tsunami
of some colder sea
and filled the spaces,
smaller and dimmer
than the day before,
between earth and sky.

About Ray Sharp

Poet, athlete, retired public health planner
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2 Responses to Diminished

  1. I want to stay in this poem a while, recline into the words… loved it

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