NEW: Indian summer by Rufo Q

.
.
There were four geese and two in the Iowan sky,
pink at evening, an Indian summer;
the world had ended two days before
and between the lines the vivid blue was terror.
Marbled like beef the heavens
came down to deaden us like a duvet
but there was a sense of what do we do
and a sense of who is the one beside me?


............................................The men grew beards,


the women girdled their wombs in wire,
drunkards tended to roister no more
and everywhere the big sky rolled,
slowly then faster, a table-cloth slipping.
The land was mahogany for a moment,
shone, then turned the scratchy colour of earth:
clods and stalks and scarecrows
and good plants cropped for nothing.


............................................The world had ended


and the world would never end;
this year like all the others the same man died
but proved a little harder to coax out of night.
Leave me a while, he said,
leave me until your turn comes to split;
the hug of the dark is without shape,
better to find my arms in it then
than to have them now and go alone


............................................into that embrace.