The Unprotected

The sun at noon
stirs a scurry of ants
to autumn’s business.
I wear my owner’s look today
and charge the bins and granaries
with the field’s account. I’m trustee of
a township in my heart where summer joy
and spring expectancy depend on schools
of singers, cheepers, chirpers, clowns in grass
and pool and air, who chorus, caper alive
the spirit’s moments. And now I must provide
against the day when snow lies deep,
the sun shrinks south, and no kind neighbor comes
breaking the drifts to say the year has turned.