Passage of days grows damp and dull, lost
amid fallen leaves, pine needles on the sidewalk.
A squirrel skull sits atop the fence post, white
bone almost radiant in thin autumn sun.
Late October, feminine curve of new moon
glows above western horizon, cold morning.
For a moment, I stare into dark holes, wonder
what the small eyes see now, where they gaze.
My own eyes are caught by a young crow riding
the crest of a red cedar swaying under its weight.
Some message in this day, the way elements merge
in a single instant, a conspiracy of meaning.