September
This is the time of year when storms
spin up from distant dust
and sand and make their way to us,
and we worry and adjust
the scales we carry in our heads
to account for luck and prayer.
We buy batteries and candles, cords
and water to prepare.
There are three trees beside the house
that rarely catch my eye
except in these days when I measure
all things against the sky
or what the sky might bring to us.
I worry and adjust
the scales inside my head and wonder
what to do or if I just
need to know some secret thing
someone who isn’t me
would certainly know: which way the wind
will blow up from the sea,
or how to navigate a seaof worry. I worry mytheir beams worn as thin by now as the‘venetian blinds’ that whales
