Autumn
It's that time,
When all the trees are disrobing immodestly,
Throwing off their vibrantly painted summer clothes —
Cotton frocks, diaphanous scarves, silk blouses —
Draped in nothing but autumn's compromising majesty.
This immaculate Saturday afternoon,
I'm the lone witness to their seductive show,
Sole beholder of their blessed letting-go —
Nature's rites of change and renascence.
I'm in her throes, the thick of things beginning to end
Or, if not, to enter evanescent coalescence
With the orderly coronation of the seasons,
From which they'll awaken again,
Dress, in regal greens spring will breathe into raiment,
Once they've completed sleep's quiescence.
The hour of their coruscating immortality and mine is now.
In this warm-weather embrace, we're inextricable.
To remain transfixed, like this, is my wish; it's theirs too.
Even in winter's frigid grip, we'll still be here,
If our intimacy has anything to say about it.
10/24/09 - (1)
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