Cleopatra rolled up in a rugsmuggled in to see Caesarworming her way into infamyEvery day the light is changingSlyly summer transformslittle by little into autumnsuch small moveswe hardly even notice the fall I realize it’s not quite the right time of year for this poem, but my copy-paste-repeat diligence from my Medium archive knows noContinue reading “September”
The wind will shift from south to north again
as the earth tilts her way along the year
and my breath will enter the tapestry
as I weave my own way along, in time.
n this fading comes regeneration
(even the most robust things must sleep)
so the trees light up with celebration
while within the soil their roots stretch out deep. . . .