We pluck a fire and hanging
And wait for a layer to open
Below green patina of light.

There is September in rains
And a body lying in a corner
Pending daughter by noon.

There is an unresolved smile
On a face with sleeping dog
That smelt age and disease.

There is rain water gushing
By a broken wall in a house
A lake in the garden of dog.

There is a woman of power
In cheeks, in  glass hospital
Hanging fire of life or death.

September, things hang fire
As they do in other months
And other nights and hours.