~ after Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Spring” (five months after)
To what purpose, September, do you return?
The leaves, beautiful as they are, rusting
off the trees, are not enough. The children
marching with rucksacks onto their buses
are not enough. The unseen chimneys sighing
wood smoke into the morning air — not enough.
The trees stretch beneath a reddening sky.
The earth yawns as the gentle sunset
of the year curls around our village.
We toast the harvest, finally cool
enough to make love, then slip
into sleep as night overwhelms day.
It is enough that yearly, September settles
into autumn and closes like a lotus.
Leave a Reply