halloween poetry

i have had one fear in my life
could we but know
in and of itself
i make my shroud, but no one knows
though i am little as all little things
this ancient silver bowl of mine
we break the glass whose sacred wine
into the silent land
there by the window in the old house
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
two rows of cabbages
see, they return
under the harvest moon