Summer how
i will miss you when
you’re gone. When fall
comes around i have a few
less things to say.
autumn
September 22nd
poetryWillow trees
Banana leaves
Shimmer a million
Schools of minnows
Glittering underbellies
In soft tepid breeze
Feverishly squirming
Hands wrists and arms
Rollercoasting snakes
From car windows
on trying not to write about leaves in november
poetrydamn you, fall,
your atrophying arboreal appendages
colonize my mind
every time i try to write
words like
crisp
scent
apples
amber
cool
dusk
breeze
rustle
harvest
haystack
chill
rake
march onto the page
and plant their autumnal flag
(which, much like that of our
northerly neighbor’s, depicts a
self-satisfied leaf).
Tanka
poetryAutumn rushing in
Blustery days and bright colors
Fresh with vitality
Long walks to watch leaves flutter
Inhale the changing season
skipping seasons
poetrythe air has turned cold
but we’re missing
that autumn scent
leaves, somewhere,
burning in barrels
and i’m suddenly afraid
my ears will never soak in
that scent again.
autumn is a bike ride
poetryat night when
the temperature is
low enough to finally
wear a sweatshirt
and you begin to
dissolve.
haiku
poetryi welcome this air
thick with the smell and chill of autumn–
before the sunrise.
The Impending Fall
poetrySloppy drops sink in,
Autumn approaches.
12 Jul 08
poetrywas it the night
we sat on steps avoiding
others so we could speak secrets and dreams until 4am?
or was it the time
we walked in the park in
autumn sat on a bench beneath
the night acutely aware of our hands and the distance between them?
or was it that Thursday
the first time my lips fell into yours
in the background the treading percussion of Explosions in the Sky?
or was it that Sunday
at circle of hope when I calculated the exact pressure
of your hand on mine to equal the love of God and kept it to myself?
was it in old city
beneath the din of eighties hip hop
when I told my friends I would marry you someday?
was it in spanish
stumbling mispronunciations and incorrect accents
in an attempt better know those who mean the world to you?
was it in harvard yard
dressed as wizards wandering and wondering
where we could find the best butter beer in cambridge?
or was it the summer
we spent unemployed reading and mastering
the NY times crossword puzzle then emerged, merged adjusting our eyes to autumn?
or was it that night
in central PA when you showed me how
to cup both hands to carefully catch these drifting constellations?
I cannot say exactly
when
only
somewhere
between my hands and yours
between sunset and sunrise
between the top and bottom step
between the mountains and the atlantic
between jersey and philly
between te amo and mahal kita
between the upbeat and downbeat
between the first and last page of this notebook
between one thousand and one days ago and today
I fell in love with you.
and even to partially properly articulate this
it will take my entire life
an infinite number of pages
and perfectly placed kisses
(which is part of my plan)
but something tells me
nothing will match
the simple eloquence
of your hand
in mine
some evening
fifty summers from tonight.