Mr President, it’s Autumn
But that’s less important to me
Than the sun ringing like a great bronze gong
As it sets in my rearview mirror. The president is back there, too,
Making thousands of enemies as traffic snarls
And cops snarl
And helicopters crawl overhead peering
It seems into every car. But that’s not what I am entranced by.
I’m unable to stop looking at the
Woods on fire with enthusiasm for the coming winter
Wearing every color a leaf can turn.
Cars turn onto the freeway (at last!)
And I pay just enough attention to avoid crashing
Because I can’t quit gazing, looking, staring
At the full moon high in the eastern sky,
A milky silver dollar surrounded by thin, brilliant blue.
Our tame city mountain sits there over the river;
It’s wearing brown and white. Framed by the same
Brilliant blue as the moon, it reflects that copper sun
In the west. Oh, the rest, the president, the entourage, the security –
How can I think of that when the sun and the moon and the trees
Have voted for joy?
