As we spend the summer debating

death’s vague dichotomy (as if

the dead stay up late worrying

about personal liberty), Evil walks

casually along the rows with a scythe

leveling the field with each slow swath.

In early Autumn, night’s splintered

with lightning storms, first dark,

then light, then dark again like a child

flickering a light switch indecisively:

the world about us is exposed briefly

before vanishing into memory’s shimmer.

I have forgotten so many things 

I thought I once knew; I remember

I shut the gate to something, but 

forgot where it was, where it led to,

or if there were cows there to escape

into the empty Winter pastures.

(June 1, 2022)