Did sunlight break through clouds
seventeen minutes behind schedule?
Is this our meteorological autumn?
If we’d come at seven, we’d have seen us
seated with a glass of water filled with candlelight.
The ream of paper almost gone.
What keeps us making mistakes?
Stand behind us and watch
in the window, the flame touch our ears
and beyond, through warped glass, the ghostly
outline of a barn where we might witness
a rabbit nestled in straw beside her five bunnies,
one frozen. Have our computations
led to the unemployed elephants of India
that forage in forests for heavy branches
to haul back in exchange for food,
that are now because of a few zeros without work
or let go as we say?
In New Deli, we might see one
rear up to crush our fence.
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