Miff

So what works when you break the day,
the bitten life?
The wandering back across the town?
Did you see those green trees?
You just walked past, didn’t you?
Spring is some unnoticed event;
all the buried beauty, lost.

And summer,
will that ever be more than sweat?
Will the bright days simply mean turning the lights on later?
Is that all you see—electricity bills?

So where’s the blind watchmaker now?
It’s autumn, you know:
autumn.