OCTOBER: MY FOREST OWLS It's on its own, the black wind of autumn, The start of autumn, after long summer. I know it's started, because the night world Is suddenly cold, unapproachable, A planetary blank that fronts my face When I slide back the door to the owl's cry. Two owls, in fact, working on their marriage Against a black backdrop, against darkness. Anxious call, anxious response. On their own.