Walnut

So the walnut dropped 
early to the earth
with a bruised green skin.
What a life this is.

The hard shell underneath
smells like the hull 
of a wooden ship
on the pitch dark sea.

My watch, ever faithful,
tells me it’s the end
of the sleepless night, 
but I know better.

The bulk of the world
are finishing their work
in the fading light 
of an endless day.

Lulu, our poodle,
who is 105 years old
stumbles coming down 
the creaky wooden steps.

She lies beside me 
waiting patiently.
The pack shouldn't be 
apart this late at night.

A nut,
a ship,
a watch,
a dog.

The fall is fast approaching.
Maybe it’s already here.
Even the farm kids 
are back in school

twisting in their desks
watching the sun run wild
through giant clouds
above the tiny schoolyard.

Here at the kitchen table
the night watches me do nothing
as if I’m a reality TV show -
Will a Poem Happen Tonight?!

The heater clicks on
in the subconscious of the house 
and warm streams of air 
rush up through the lath.

Back on the other side
they’re wrapping up for the day
having a bite to eat
and getting ready for bed.

Over here the east is beginning to tint
so I rise and wind the planet’s spring
with the small brass wheel
in the cabinet behind the fridge.

And so we’re good 
for a few more days
of slow tilt and spin
the final notes of summer.

Maybe now I can close my eyes
before leaving for work
and spend a few minutes 
back on the storied ship

where my family has been sailing 
wrapped in each other's arms
with a wind of soft breaths
all along the coast of night.

.