While leaf scatters across the path, the body
already braced for snow, in the head still
remains of summer: that evening we sat
at a table outside talking and addressed
the fleshpots, the owls
made the night a spectacle.
We could not see them but heard their
calls cross through the dark to
no one in particular. Airy response
came from far and seemingly higher.
We imitated them, would have liked
for a moment to be invisible too, waiting
for an answer that surely should come. But we
sat much lower, almost lightheartedly laughed and drank
our shard- and bottle-bliss together.