How a Season Changes
Cool air wisps through the maze of tree branches
between the veins of leaves
just strong enough
to make them rustle with minor kinetics and we
ponder.
It s l o w l y sucks up all the chlorophyll
through the same straw nature uses
to blow water down upon whatever is down
(a thin stream of air that playfully
betrays us, like
an expatriate does his native country).
This is how a season changes--
gradually, painfully, perfectly.
We retrieve our sweaters from the
backs of our closets, our scarves from our dusty
boxes and drink coffee with new stimulations &
musings
about the weather and existensialism
about
lovers locking gloved hands and
s h i v e r i n g.
The sun is retreating
and the birds
are fleeing fast towards Mexico and then
gray.
Everything is gray, but the ice
hasn't smothered us
yet.
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