She is seedpod, pinecone, nutshell,
unremarkable and legend:
windblown, dancing on dry grass,
recasting her space.

Every season is November:
pines bleed into flat light, sea stirs
as though something powerful
lies caged beneath.

Geese journey south, twin-edged
blades that slit the sky, pose
more questions than answers.
Her direction unclear.

Winds swirl through her house—
in and out its many windows.
The sky is thin, bruised,
first snow a laying on of hands.

—
Ann Howells of Carrollton, Texas, edits Illya’s Honey, recently taking it digital: IllyasHoney.com. Her publications are: Black Crow in Flight (Main Street Rag),  Under a Lone Star (Village Books Press), Letters for My Daughter (Flutter Press), and Cattlemen & Cadillacs, an anthology of D/FW poets that she edited (Dallas Poets Community Press). Her poems appear widely; she has four Pushcart nominations.