The Promise of Autumn

In a bronze and lazy moment
the promise of Autumn
calls to me in wheatfield golds,
the core of her wind seeking,
speaking to me now in the
coolstream fragrance
of late summer’s exhale

an engagement unfolds
here, languid as the castglow
of her shadow, befalls
the epigram of fading time
lost in the absence of failing light
burning thoughts of you
into the pressed, soft lace of

a poised, and earth-aware grace
to which I am witness, and
again I’m found wordless in
the common man’s wonderment
the awe of sanctity noted in
this instance as you embrace my
heart in raised elevation of your love


© K. James Ribble

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