October Light (#39)

Where I backed the silver trailer
In the autumn rain, pressing close
To oak boards once painted black,
The wooly longhorn turns his head

To enter the vacant space,

Stepping into cool darkness.

Nearby, buttressed with stilt grass,

Panicles of pink knotweed,

The tomb of the ground spider,

Diurnal shroud decorated with fallen

Sugarnut leaves, funneling light.

The rain taps the pale gauze, and,

Deep within the coiled cold

The hungry mouth moves, twitching—

If it had a slavering tongue, surely

It would lick its dripping, ebony fangs.