Late November

one minute, the sun was out, it was fall.
Geraniums under a quilt last night, a
            blotch of red opening.
On the front step what looked like lint
has small pink claws and feet.
Next the sky was the color of lead. 

Geraniums under a quilt last night
like a child you’ve tucked in
or a body wrapped in the earth under leaves.
In the swirl of sudden snow, what
was left of the headless fur blows west 

Like a child you’ve tucked in
whatever was living, a just born
squirrel I suppose, hardly a living thing
            except for feet.
In fifteen minutes, the light came
back, cars stopped sliding 

Whatever was living. Or just born
must have felt the wild snow was a warning.
I thought of the lover wrapped in dark
cloth and left in the leaves while, not knowing,
I took a ballet class. The geraniums 

are still under a blue quilt this Tuesday.
One minute the sun was out, it was fall