September. a Poem
The last blessing pours out on us,
illumines every cranberry leaf,
every spider web...
leaves scroll dank and particolored
in every hue- yellow, orange, tequila sunrise,
sunset, sun sets, sets slowly, gilding crimson,
parting every hope with brilliant, chill stanzas...
how can the sun droop so close to us,
on the eve of Winter?
We will starve for it in months to come,
but, for now, we are merely struck dumb, motionless-
bees too cold to journey back to the hive...
Stuck on this brilliant blossom.