All summer I loved rain and a 

dappled sky and mugginess 

and noticing Harry 

this rabbit suddenly sitting 

still on the gremlin green lawn 

spread out beyond my desk window 

I’d be dreaming 

over a photograph 

of an early 20th century 

immigrant watchmaker 

and his clock museum 

where the Forverts said 

he’d made whirling mechanical wheels featuring moving little people 

A moon faced clock with eyes 

November’s unwinding 

I haven’t seen the bunny for a while 

Geese honk as they fly overhead 

Harry must be traveling on 

Pandemic Thanksgiving is here 

The leaves on the lawn crunch 

Cold rain winds itself up into hail and snow 

The blue moon waxed and waned 

big and lit up as a melon globe 

then smaller 

and now crescent shaped 

Dear world, I am grateful for all your moving parts and for Harry 

blinking and still 

in the rain last summer