A weekday of back-roads and small
errands, of September sun stalled
in the clearing of itself. I drive home
from the school run, buying a padlock,
trees antlered against the road,
the half-stripped, half-rusted willows and alders.

Dark martins over the smeared woods,
dwindled lines:
a cartography of the shapes I have narrowed
to. They weave a bower
through unnoticed air; threshing
fields and the Toyota’s dull scribble. I draw back toward
my life. The light is folded over the lake water;
deletes a napkin of pinewoods, the road out.