The October Noon is Not Without Grace

The October noon
Sits in retreat
From duty or imposing beauty
It is short of dry wind
And incisors on high
Like a fragment message
That does not dive or regress
From letter messages
From fostered drawings
It forgets its retirement
Just once a year
For the part on high
With stretched out limbs
And imposing fragrances
The October noon
Does not forget you
Or regress from its merry limbs

There is no American poetry
There is only mouthwash
And the Blues

There is no wishing in poetry
There is only silence and
Retention