Late October, and I am Still Twenty Five

Well, what can you do?
It was spring come and gone –
Late October, harvest moon turned once to snow,
Now grateful for sunlight.
In the golden afternoon,
I hacked Jerusalem artichoke with the same hands
I had used to hold the wakeup.
Pulled blighted basil from its brown twigs,
And spread leaves on the bed
To make ready the winter.
I made soup with those artichokes -
Thick with potato, onion, and Sibylle’s herbs.
I ate the soup,
And ate my phase by the salty mouthful.