James Schuyler

October

Books litter the bed, Leaves the lawn. It Lightly rains. Fall has Come: unpatterned, in The shedding leaves. The maples ripen. Apples Come home crisp in bags. This pear tastes good. It rains lightly

Salute

Past is past, and if one Remembers what one meant To do and never did, is Not to have thought to do Enough? Like that gather- Ing of one each I Planned, to gather

Sunday

The mint bed is in Bloom: lavender haze Day. The grass is More than green and Throws up sharp and Cutting lights to Slice through the Plane tree leaves. And On the cloudless blue

Faure's Second Piano Quartet

On a day like this the rain comes Down in fat and random drops among The ailanthus leaves -“the tree Of Heaven” – the leaves that on moon- Lit nights shimmer black and blade-

beside me in this garden Are huge and daisy-like (why not? are not Oxeye daisies a chrysanthemum?), Shrubby and thick-stalked, The leaves pointing up The stems from which The flowers burst in Sunbursts. I

Closed Gentian Distances

A nothing day full of Wild beauty and the Timer pings. Roll up The silver off the bay Take down the clouds Sort the spruce and Send to laundry marked, More starch. Goodbye Golden