It seems we can all breathe a sigh of relief. The collapse of democracy in America, and a pillar of modern civilization, has been staved off—at least for another election cycle. Since the national party conventions brought an end to the primary race and began the presidential contest in earnest, reality show host Donald Drumpf’s forecasted chances of reaching the White House have tanked. No doubt his numbers will soon sink to the bottom of

Silent morning—a fog like the ghost Of autumn trees and brush and leaves Rises up to the skies, a wavering host Of spirits climbing to clouds, their winter post.   Farmers are nearly done gathering sheaves And stalks stand like sentinels—grave stones— Encumbered by rooks whose coarse song weaves Harvest into winter, as Earth her life heaves   Into barns and bins. She creaks and groans From the heavy toil of summer, spent, To lie