Post-rain October afternoon—
filled to bursting
with sharp green-
golden leaves and shimmering water,
you are so great and benign
to let him
dare try—to perforate
and prick
and drain you
wrinkled and dry—to steal away
your rusty treasures and
sweetest elixirs
for that dim dearth
of winter, when his throat
is parched,
and his
imagination dehydrated—and his little wife
and kids are starving.
