The summer has spent itself –
growth’s pinnacle released to
the angle of the sun,
its shimmering eloquence,
end of day / exhausted
||
The scent of epilogue
betrays my utterances –
Autumn approaches in
turquoise abandon, quick
to deny her vices
||
today I wrapped the
bell songs of September
into the palm of my hand –
Three times the toll was
found on the end of reckoning
||
Alder and sparrow wreak
the heaviness of the warren
the hills, that view of you,
left adornment aloft of flight,
reflected intimal in our moment

© K. James Ribble