- autumn

sometime between the yawns of the morning and the snores

of the night, it has rained, and it dyes my shoes a glossy, happy,

black. the grass scratches against my legs, and it peels away

the skin that grew under warm bedsheets. my hair is in tufts,

obeying the whim of the whimsical winds, and if my skin

had not known the voice of the sun, it would be blushing with

the cold fever of autumn.

sometime between the beats of my heart and the distance between

our fingers, something has changed, irrevocably, unchangeably,

irreversibly. there is a bird in the sky, so far into the Blue, into

the sky that swirls and dances at dusk, and I watch it fly by with

a joy that sinks deep into my nerves, that strokes the cells of my

blood. it fizzes like sunlight on a pond, and then it drifts.

oh, how it drifts.

so that’s how it goes: light and love and grey in autumn. in autumn,

there are clouds, and down below, far, far below, there is me, with

my hands outstretched, with the wind in my hair and the grass against

my legs, and the dew in my shoes, and the birds, they fly up above,

up with the clouds, and I am shining like sunlight on a pond.