Cousin Jonathan Squints Southward

When September Sun crosses the
crosswalk at State & Center
and through my south-faced screen
-I know it must be the 21st.
Dodging between turning maples,
glancing off the deli’s parking lot
hugging the skirt of the therapist’s
mansard roof. She’s way wide
of Edward’s brownstone church,
his Great Awakening bells un-tolled
his clock ticking off the unfading uses
of Christian architecture.

No: this is keeping time,
my Stonehenge light on the baker’s table
my little druidic pieces of dough
shadowing this tiny wooden Salisbury Plain.
Dawn angle of autumn light
to leaven a cooler morning’s proof.

Equinox rolls
are in the oven,
ever so slightly lopsided
orbiting near the flame’s