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October 12th

Ten birds
shriek insanely
as light takes on
a slanted shape inside
what used to be the church.

A strand of new Spanish beads
has been hung
from a nail next
to the back door,
and the ridge above town
is dignified by red clouds
and chimney smoke.

Autumn,
with its slick
stones and truth,
has arrived at last,
crooked and sickly,
its cart filled with maps,
weather-gods,
and chances.