Vaudeville
       

Late October, and the sky is that clear blue scrim
we only see when the leaves go presto chango, garnet
and gold, and asters and chrysanthemums, the last
flowers, take their bow on center stage. The birds
are packing it up, preparing their exit, and the rest
of the garden collapses in ruin: fallen branches,
crumpled programs, dried leaves. The house light
turns everything golden, and even though we know
what's coming, the next act, we start to believe
we can stay here forever in the amber spotlight,
that night's black velvet curtain will never fall.

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Copyright © 2013 Barbara Crooker All rights reserved
from Gold
Cascade Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission