Monday, October 20, 2014

A Letter a To October, Ted Kooser

A Letter in October

BY TED KOOSER
Dawn comes later and later now,   
and I, who only a month ago
could sit with coffee every morning   
watching the light walk down the hill   
to the edge of the pond and place   
a doe there, shyly drinking,

then see the light step out upon   
the water, sowing reflections   
to either side—a garden
of trees that grew as if by magic—
now see no more than my face,   
mirrored by darkness, pale and odd,

startled by time. While I slept,   
night in its thick winter jacket   
bridled the doe with a twist
of wet leaves and led her away,
then brought its black horse with harness   
that creaked like a cricket, and turned

the water garden under. I woke,   
and at the waiting window found   
the curtains open to my open face;   
beyond me, darkness. And I,
who only wished to keep looking out,   
must now keep looking in.

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