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Feeding Ducks,  Grey November
by Lyn Lifshin

no swath of light,
no smell of warm
wood shavings. A
rain coming scent.
Last leaf in wind.
Walnuts on the deck
bleeding ebony. I
Think of houses in
ice where there is
no light, of men
carving snow birds,
seals, caribou,
dream llamas as geese
fly up, a cloud of
feathers, skidding to
the corn that floats
on the skin of water
the color of light



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