PASTEL


There is in every leaving a yellow that the grass reflects
in sunning pages. What will I miss when trees darken?
The dog in dreams hauls pawing. Will I forget
that once the sun had visited my fingers?  The details?
Will I remember even flowers? Buttered leaves?
The gold the cowards streak? Flags of caution?
Will I miss the whisper when the window leaks
the elements of orange? The nights are sudden,
strange. Pendulous the feeder.
Crows articulate the darkening.

Kathleen Hellen is a poet and the author of the collection Umberto’s Night (2012) and the chapbook The Girl Who Loved Mothra (2010). Her poems are widely published and have appeared in Barrow Street, Prairie Schooner, Subtropics, Witness, among others.