Given now to longer quiets, wise
to gusts that rustle husks, shooshing
psalms of autumn grasses, bewildering

blossomless Brittlebush, sun-baked
stalks of Apricot Mallow. Clatter
of Padre potting plants

in harvest color crocks huddled
against our cloister's summer-warm
walls where shadow shelters still

the weakest seedlings, refugees
of unstoppable transition. Chittering
clippings levitate as if bewitched.

Dust devil disapparates.