Classic Poem

So—summer is gone. Perhaps
you hadn't noticed. It happened
outdoors in real space pursuant
to old habits of the stars

and pretty impressive still,
though somewhat sad, of course—
or grave—yes, grave is better—
and gravity's not in fashion
we know; so it may be
wiser to stay on-line;

since, once abroad in—what
name has it now—extro-
space?—you could stumble on
former allegiances.—

For instance, glancing up
at a knoll's crest where brown
goblets of gone-by
Queen Anne's lace lift and tilt
in their intransigent toast
to Powers now in decline …











By permission of the author.