Letter in October

A Letter in October - Ted Kooser

Dawn comes later and later now, 

and I, who only a month ago 

could sit with coffee every morning 

watching the light walk down the hill 

to the edge of the pond and place 

a doe there, shyly drinking, 

then see the light step out upon 

the water, sowing reflections 

to either side—a garden 

of trees that grew as if by magic— 

now see no more than my face, 

mirrored by darkness, pale and odd, 

startled by time. While I slept, 

night in its thick winter jacket 

bridled the doe with a twist 

of wet leaves and led her away, 

then brought its black horse with harness 

that creaked like a cricket, and turned 

the water garden under. I woke, 

and at the waiting window found 

the curtains open to my open face; 

beyond me, darkness. And I, 

who only wished to keep looking out, 

must now keep looking in.