POETRY
I can feel autumn approaching
Shush of leaves in
a dry wind pushing
kids on playground swings
dry sticks tumble-rub
together tuning
up for night melodies
grinding the hot
cinnamon wind for an
orange sunset
round as a big-leaved
vine-field ready for
harvest. It comes
but with the too-slow
arrival of a favorite
friend, stalled
chatting on the
way out the door
Anticipatory, I wipe
my brow, check
the weather, go to
the window to
look again
nip of cider and
tease of cool air
a trick of the tilted light
I check my messages
send another:
autumn, where
are you
