Autumn in Iowa
       

I stuff I Ching pennies
into a parking meter.
The sun tilts through colored glass,
turns blue in my kitchen window.

We put on costumes for Halloween.
I dance after midnight
with a bare-chested man
with boxing gloves.

The peony stalks are brittle
in the wind, and the coneflowers
have turned brown before November.
Field mice bury their fur
inside the quiet places of the heart.

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Copyright © 2022 Diane Frank All rights reserved
from While Listening to the Enigma Variations
Glass Lyre Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission