already it's October and the time of the starlings black feathered masses diving madly between trees cacophonous dawning of earlier nights feather-fanned winds stirring linden leaves already lost to the gutters in damp yellow drifts of regret


summer’s end

in August the evenings pulse in insect anthems and the curled moon bows beneath the weight of summer's passing the air presses its grass-sweet breath against the earth in kisses that scorch the first verse of summer's end


crow night's star-dusted feathers drape her blue-black whisperings covering over the green of gloaming in the absence of light I fall to forgetting eyes tight-closed against the possibility of loss feather-tipped unknowing brushes away the dust of hope nothing gold can stay? then I pray … Continue reading untitled