Driving out of the gray fog
of my lakebound hinterland days.
Leonard Cohen sings Joan of Arc —
she said ‘I’m tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before —
as I cross the 45th Parallel
by a roadside stand selling sweet corn,
russet potatoes, pumpkins and squash.
There is no other way out of autumn
save the slow slippery slope into winter.