the countdown begins, the wind shifts, my tea is hot.
AUTUMN SONG
Even a dog got him
a house.
Me, I am rent
unpaid, or late-
I am a small bird
beneath a big wheel.
Snail-brown
of November. Night.
Even a bird-dog knows
what way is home.
Me, I hunted
the high places, the low
where only the wingless go.
Of the trees, nests
are all that's left-
in wind pine limbs creak
like an old man's,
a door opening.
The noise beneath my feet!
Even a bird,
a dog, got him a cage
he can bark
all night in, or sing.
-Kevin Young, Jelly Roll