September

Mist
on this September morn,
undressed in eyes
once long, too young to winter
this curled surly age.

Surely once
upon this September morn,
before the chronic drains,
now long, domestic,
a smudge remains.

Would that I deny these slender pulled waters,
Would that I tender these misting points,
that tamp low grounds and river joints,
though one betrays, one end anoints.

September,
take this unto your soon departing –
remembrance is the better part of love –
starting once upon a starling cloud,
and crowding gathered flocks
fixed to the eyes of lovers once,
are reckoned on the heaves and rocks.

Inspired by: Lost Where I Belong by David Moore

Image: Tobias Oetiker on Unsplash

7 thoughts on “September

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