underneath
the real
she lay
silk
doilies
Summer's Sigh
i turned
when i felt
an uncertain moment
at my back
a tentative stroke
of leaf and wind
has left me maddened
in September's too-long embrace
October's sylvan whispers
pray me, wait, do,
for the changing sameness
...and tells me something
important about November's
nessessities
regaining my pace
i move into the
last sulky, sodden
days of summer
and know,
and smile,
and know...
She, most welcome, will be here anon.
bedecked,
bemused,
and brilliant in her arrival,
she will appear
when it suits her wardrobe...
then will i slip under the silks
of the flaming golds,
passionate reds,
and crystalline blue chiffons--
like a child playing dress-up
i'll smile approvingly
at the transformation.