footfalls roam in heavy silence
the dense chocolate loam
and pungent dreaming custard
of fallen leaves and flowers
as the steady hum of bees
becomes a rustling buzz
crisp matter caught in corners
and in the brittle arms of fences
where insects crawl in to die
strong by the billions
the tincture of their last breaths
faintly scents the bone-chilled air
the warm, tenacious soul of Summer
golden amber-brown and weathered
sings in the woodland, leaves, refusing yet to fall
tall pumpkin streaked trees remembering viridian
combine now in chorus as wildly wavering birds
on high, conduct the wind and clouds
Autumn is a loose bouquet, lipstick smeared
and crushed from too much ardent kissing
whose deep-toned rouge perfume
tempts like a wild and twisting tango
the nascent, chilly mind of Winter, handsome
cold and silver, now dressing in the wings...
lucy meskill
