On a cold, windy weekend
I contrived a little garland
of fabric flags—
droll points affixed at intervals
to a length of pale ribbon
because the undraped window
looked dreary
and forlorn.
Days later
I looked at them,
trying to gauge
whether they cheered.
Outside, the trees
wore bright-gold leaves,
a yellow burst
against the blue
Blue sky—
the last carnival
colors of the season.
The flags cannot compete.
Yet months from now,
the view gone grey and somber,
that remembrance will be traced
in a jaunty arc of flags.
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 