Robert Dannenberg

“autumn shifts”

Autumn shifts,
centers in the life halving.

Shapes of birds above done fields,
hills, trees decided light
takes in its arms.

The thin trees are the order to understand—
branches a future intends,
elsewhere for now.

Head down in winds
I go to find it, crossing a track a wheel made long ago—
pressing the earth without pause,
calm, maximum.

My contest distorts my fit inside it—
pinning my hands to finish
without sums.

Instead, I turn some other figure,
one seen through the end
the woods creature,
one within the deep November.