September Morning
Unexpected first frost
the lightest glaze
across the field
a fine line drawn down the ruckled trunk
of the old cottonwood --
a beard that was not there yesterday
a portent of more white to come
Amid bursts of red and purple
summer’s last revel splayed
in final fevered abandon
sumac,
like the reddened lips of teenage girls
quivers with anticipation
while I see an icy arc
in a color not used
these five months
It drifts like Egyptian gauze
across the pale gold grasses
along the ditch bank
Fuchsia cosmos dip their heads
nodding in humbled obeisance
and poplars drop golden tributes
one
by one
onto the brief
shining carpet
(Published in Progenitor 50, Art and Literary Journal, 2015.)
