Nine for the nine bright shiners
the waves upon the strand
nine the times the tide will turn
and I’ll let go your hand.
Nine the magic number
magic water in the well
nine times nine times nine again
but only time will tell.
Nine flies caught in a web that’s spinning
off the edge of a poplar tree
where the world’s ninth wonder falls in heartaches
into the slough of despond with me.
Nine seeds fly in the gold wind dusking
over the field where turnips lie
Nine mice feed on the motes of cowslips
in this bright corner where I’ll die.