Autumn Song

The sky ends
where the gulls dive;
they fly as far as they can.

I watch for a while
until at seven
the neighbors start their hammering.

You are best
in the dawn’s surmise—
you draw your legs to your chest.

Willow-worn,
the swallows cross
the blue once more and vanish.

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Walt Hunter

Walt Hunter is the author of Forms of a World: Contemporary Poetry and the Making of Globalization (2019) and a forthcoming collection of poems, Some Flowers (2022). He teaches at Clemson University.

Also by Walt Hunter (see all)

• Olomouc - February 25, 2021
• Autumn Song - February 25, 2021
• Ending the Residency - February 25, 2021

Author: Walt Hunter

Walt Hunter is the author of Forms of a World: Contemporary Poetry and the Making of Globalization (2019) and a forthcoming collection of poems, Some Flowers (2022). He teaches at Clemson University. View all posts by Walt Hunter