Poem

for Nicki

I don’t hate it when the sun shines

but when you

(or Billy Collins for that matter)

and on and on

like when the sun is shining

hits that old pumpkin, curving in on itself

a speck of tarnished rind

the porch step

and the sun, direct, post-Halloween intention

what we almost forgot

when you for example (or Billy or Billy) turn

when you turn that particular corner, and the light

of 8am hits the corner of your eye

when the sun at 8am, and you don’t expect

falling, like pumpkins, off the porch, like leaves 

(stop there before you

like yellow all over the ground, or snow

yellow under the snow before it melted, turned still

holding court this last moment, when the sun

blasting, a bright red chair

a moment, and you

a little hokey, but you

almost lost against the sun, 8am, a chair

falling like pumpkins, this little

instant, a slant of light