Abiquiú

The fingers of autumn now
reach through a time of day when
the sun light says it’s going to rain

as a slight of summer begins
to close her harvest eyes making
fall yawn before the respite of

dawn’s reflectance – a tinged epistle
penned by the color of your eyes in
what rests beneath these canopy clouds

under a curtain of shade that veils the
mountains in a blank shelter of shadows
where traces of turquoise and pink

tinge the hues of your sweetest smile

 

 
© K. James Ribble

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