LATE NOVEMBER IN A FIELD
Today I am walking alone in a bare place.
And winter is here
Two squirrels near a fence post
Are helping each other drag a branch
Toward a hiding place; it must be somewhere
Behind those ash trees
They are still alive, they ought to save acorns
Against the cold
Frail paws rifle the troughs between cornstalks when the moon
Is looking away.
The earth is hard now,
The soles of my shoes need repairs.
I have nothing to ask a blessing for,
Except these words
I wish they were