Autumn

The wheel has turned,
autumn's ready to release her rainbow leaves.
Abundant summer fruit pines
for the black, the moist, the earth.
What fall it shall be!

Owl anticipates his hunting hour's approach,
width of prey vision dotting in with every sigh of tree.

Oblique, blinding, the still radiant sun,
contemplative, gently on retrieval path,
contracting to make room for thought.

I hold you in my tired arms,
stroke silken strands behind your ears.
Your glistening lips a memory of forgotten summer months.

Perhaps we'll part.
Or struggle on, under this waning light,
this silent season fading in.

This us, this we, gently, firmly turning with the tide.
What fall it shall be!