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Elements

Just as October draws its dusk folds
across the cloaked lake
and clouds lower to roost like birds,

the crows will swarm in thick wheels
over willow and road, the frieze
of dead reeds at the water’s edge.

They will swirl and then settle
even as I climb the front steps,
shuffle my feet on the mat,

enter where you have already come
to kindle warmth and light,
the snap of wood burning on the grate.

An old sofa, a glass of wine,
and a cat will wait for me to sit down
as children turn up from other rooms,

test the evening as though licking a finger
to check the direction of the wind
or watching rain for an early turn to snow

and you will try to measure
what private storms I’ve carried home,
while I struggle to balance the weather,

to navigate gray shadows and cast
for the simplest words I cannot find.