Look how the days grow shorter,
like my grandfather used to announce,
over dinner, or driving down the road.
In a farmer’s field, husks rot
beneath a yellow moon
and a man in a rented room
screams into his own reflection.
Seasons blur into seasons.
Years pile up like unpaid parking tickets.
I can feel pieces of my spine
fall like walnuts from a tree.
Thank God for Mozart
and chorizo, cheap wine, books
on the shelf; the mantra of nighttime rain.
— Jason Irwin
Jason Irwin’s most recent book is “A Blister of Stars,” published by Pittsburgh’s Low Ghost Press in July (www.jasonirwin.blogspot.com).