Robert Dannenberg

“autumn became”

Autumn became
the turned wheel

pressing a track
that leaves no room.

It deepens, fills
weathers come far over lands—

a silent remainder birds exit.

The divide is surplus to the route
it sees through, each side

of the groove a well spring.
Uncoiled now, trampled now

it fits what it has to light

the clarity live,
a lid off the head

thin woods field.