haze

the sun is out this afternoon if only briefly low in hazy sky not gray nor blue but white a worn-out tissue something in my eye i hesitate not sure if it's remorse or longing or whether these are both the same i stand in what used to be my garden forgetting it's already november remembering how in '95 so many crossed wide valleys in cold rain living in swamps and how that cargo plane rattled tin roofs plowing up all that sod i only know the flies were bad that year