Autumn

Why am I so afraid as the cidery smell
of apples lingers in the air? Was it that long ago
I rushed to the wilderness and was married
to the green? Why now do I fear I’ll forget my way?
That my wife and daughter won’t recognize me? And why
at night does milk vanish from our glasses? Why?
I know that man walking across his roof is safe
because he stands above the heads of sleepy
children. And why do I fear the names of people
will be blown away? Why? Would only that sparrow feed
my eyes, what would I know? Why now do rooms
all smell of clove? And why has my house grown
small? See, I bend to pick it up among the stones.