September is a splendour
of sun and HIGH high tides
an undulating silver seabody
disappears beaches
climbs banks
vanishes wetlands
and shimmers beneath the blue moon
in all its resplendent fullness 

The Widow Wyile floats
a speck in the immensity
amid all the debris
lifted from high upon the shores
and inlets usually unreached 

Back upon her own land
after these end-of-summer
salt soak fare-swells
there is ever so much
calling for attention
including the wheeling eagles 

Three deep magenta clematis
newly opened terrestrial stars
observe the Widow’s peeling
of plump dimpled pears
in many shapes     sizes
and states of ripeness
characters all
who follow the laws of the universe
as they gravitate to land in the grass
and there await appreciators
of their sweetness
beetle   bird
chipmunk    mouse
chomping Gorgeous Goat
wasp   or the Widow Wyile’s
preserving hands
that shape them down anew
while removing pits   stones
stems and strings
preparing them for the golden
jarred sea that will sweeten winter 

Farm fields and stands
boxes and tables
along the roadsides
all about her domain
are being piled high
with pumpkins    apples
and gourds galore
as harvest bounties mount
and so as the moon wanes
again land and sea
correspond in profusion