Turning

House of Heart

I feel the season changing,

the tilt of Earth’s axis,

the days growing shorter

the night’s  desire to linger.

Summer seemed boundless,

now the sundial cast long shadows.

I will miss  you with your

brand of ripeness,

August’s   lustrous brightness

inciting the senses with fields

afire beneath a summer sky.

Now its wheat is  stacked and

bound  in lonely batches.

Buried beneath autumn leaves

the earth  imbues the darker hues

starless skies of delft blue and

gray swathes  that cloak the dawn.

The ash of burning  locust wood

shrouds the wilting garden with

the musky scent of autumn ghosts

heralding the chill.

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