September 

Right there on the whorl, the colors

utter a riposte to wind’s lachrymal

wooing. Plenty of people pass by

without even hearing the ongoing

talk

                where leaves percolate

deer crackle and malingerer lizard

dreams an enduring lecture

that explains the nature of the sun

on sixteen different days. He’s so

tired, yet there are these requirements

of worship

                  again and again.

The time comes when branches

droop, begin to doubt the truth

of sun at all, that’s when lizard

has retired into the phantasmagoria

of cold despair

                         and cannot help

but still there’s sound. Skunk

wears the robe of night,

raccoon wears the mask,

they rub against the trees

in passing, that’s when a great sigh

penetrates even the stone

lizard sleeps under.

© Copyright, Grace Marie Grafton.
All Rights Reserved.