May the wine uncork the words.

Three hedge apples by the road

Two days before October

One hour before sunset

I’m standing at the blackboard, chalk

In one hand, eraser in the other, and

Just when I think I’ve got it balanced,

The molecules get scrambled

How quickly it turns, the time,

Days racing by like rockets

Barely glimpsed then lost to the

Horizon, gone before we could

Make out their markings,

Much less their destinations.

The flowers are scraggly this year, less bloomy

Than leggy and faded as if they’d already felt

The first frost.