At home
my aimless mind
writes poemless lines.
Homeless under
trees or sky,
my lines take aim
to fly.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Nostalgia of Middle September

As if God had turned the world upside down
an ocean of gray cloud floats over our town.
Hinting at blue, an inverted horizon
makes strange fish of all the birds I lay eyes on.

This is one of those in between days
when the sun has gone sly, and is hoarding its rays.
Every breeze holds a scent I remember.
How deep, the nostalgia of middle September.

Cool air through the window, smelling of wishes...
Warm suds on my forearms, plunged deep with the dishes...
Lazily soaping and rinsing a ladle...
Lullabies sway through my mind, like a cradle.

The inhale and exhale of Autumn's first gust,
colored with aster and goldenrod dust:
a peaceful reflection of spirit that brings
the quiet affection of everyday things.

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