Autumn by Carol Baumrucker
For a few more days, the bumble of bees will
flavor the air and strike our eyes with a certain
voluptuous éclat. How brief are these last days
of summer! Our summer lasted but hours,
one hundred glorious bloomings ousted by
one hundred ignoble demises.
We recited poetry from palates dense with
warm luxury and the blood of Aestes bled
over the edges of our skin. We carved a path
in a magical forest of rocks and boulders, and
our bodies were sprinkled with diamond dust.
You told me, Listen.
I filled my ears with broken pebbles amongst
patches of sun, while the insects sang their
last falsettos. But I had no moments of sudden,
solemn shudderings… only the dissonance of
the coming loss of light. Yet, this is not a sad
lament. Tomorrow is a brand new day.
Tomorrow, our forest of rocks and boulders
will crumble and tumble and the trees will
quiver and the rain will crash and the forest
floor will be carpeted with wet golden leaves
shaped like suns and moons and stars and
the sea of it all will part for our crossing.