Gathering of clouds: dusk being
the dark denominator
of autumn equinox and sheets of rain.
Not even the raven can cease to shiver
underneath the shadows from a skein of geese.
Brittle are the stems of oak leaves
clinging to its boughs —
darkly waiting for a pantomime of fall.
The soft hand of a woman, nested
in another hand — ungloved and bared
necessity or autumn equinox?
The way the blue sky is less a promise
than Potemkin village
is the essence of lingering on precipice of Mabon.
Dawn in fall is rub of blood-
shot eyes and weight of canopies on
pillowed leaves pretending to have slept.
The harvest moon
remains on sky, perched as ghost on blue
with whiteness as from bones;
a night that overshadows day.
Inevitable, the gravel path meandering
through fallen leaves cannot tell the secrets,
whispered in a young girl’s ear
of summer’s passed.
Today we have Open Link at dVerse, and I will be hosting. Bring any poem and join the fun. Pub opens at 9PM EST, at this day of autumn equinox. I re-read the poem “Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird” by Wallace Stevens and brought my ideas to the aspect of this day. I also link this to the Tuesday Platform with Kerry at toads
September 22, 2016