in a few hours it will be the international day of peace
i'm neck deep in quiet
the love of a waning september
the winds will soon grow cold and harsh,
but for now it feels hot and empty
like the ice; its needed
like the starkness of it will wake me
I don't seem to catch the leaves changing
as if they go from deep green to shining gold in a matter of hours
as if they fall overnight
as if the markets pack up
and the streets grow from grey to white
when porch swings go silent
and the two young lovers part ways for the winter
he goes to georgia,
where the wind simply chills
and the frosts are cause for conversation
she goes to maine,
where she is lost in the torrent
and the people are able to collectively marvel
each night,
in the calm silence of snowfall.
No comments:
Post a Comment