Autumnal
       

Something painful
              like butterflies in late autumn
turning in upon themselves
where the fields have begun to be left in dust—no longer
      irrigated
and the children on their way to school can walk straight lines
the furrows of the country's breakfast food.

The time of fashion is passing
      and it is good again to watch the hawk circle in the wind
      and to fill the belly by holding hands with strangers over fires.
The age of the mink has swum its way into another riverbed,
and the spawn of dark fish has returned among the reeds.
Tonight the restless will raise their tangled limbs
and dance beneath the stars.

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Copyright © 2012 Jared Smith All rights reserved
from The Collected Poems of Jared Smith 1971-2011
NYQ Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission