In Autumn’s Vase

Glass so thin today,
we in the lower bowl
are swelled by light and air,
clear atmosphere, brilliantly
tinted by elm trees
a hundred feet above our heads

The yellow jazzes
even if it’s November’s hour glass;
then sands ting and settle,
our limbs replete, filled.
Shift your excellent body under mine:
the hour glass flips again.

Thanks to C.D. Wright for the “excellent” line.