After Rilke, Herbsttag

To Paul Ashton

Dear Lord, the summer of your blessing was sublime.
But lay your shadow on the sundials now
and let the winds loose on the fields. It’s time.

So that the year’s last fruits may ripen, Lord, allow
them just the two more southern days they need;
force them to fullness; squeeze into the heady wine
the final drops of sweetness from the vine.

Who now is houseless will not build a home.
Who now is single will remain alone,
will write long letters, lie awake and read
or, seeking peace of mind, will wander here and there
along the avenues, as leaves drift in the air.