THE GRAY DAYS

Every day is a holiday

when you can’t remember

what day it is—

when you can’t leave the driveway,

can’t leave the blacktop,

when it’s too wet to plow

for weeks at a time

as the creek rises and falls

with Atmospheric Rivers.

The finches bring branches

of dry debris, Roadrunners

chaunt solicitous love songs

despite the divine disasters

that temper mortal urgencies

a week away from the Equinox.