The air is swollen, the trees ache for autumn. Night comes and the heavy fruit of summer falls at last, and all is wet. The heat is let out and it rises up into oblivionfinity. In the morning the weight is gone and we've broken through the heavy curtain into the cold lightness, now the air is open between here and the end of the year. We all steam, the heat that had been trapped by a suffocating season rising from us as from forged metal being thrust into water. We crawl from the cocoon, gasping, and the chill curls down our throats and starts stealing our warmth. It will be a splendid struggle, we willingly yield and delight in our coverings to stave off the cold as the year grows darker.

Labels: Poems