September Morning

Unexpected first frost
the lightest glaze
across the field

a fine line drawn down the ruckled trunk
of the old cottonwood  --
a beard that was not there yesterday
a portent of more white to come

Amid bursts of red and purple
summer’s last revel splayed
in final fevered abandon

sumac,
like the reddened lips of teenage girls
quivers with anticipation

while I see an icy arc
in a color not used
these five months

It drifts like Egyptian gauze
across the pale gold grasses
along the ditch bank

Fuchsia cosmos dip their heads
nodding in humbled obeisance
and poplars drop golden tributes

one
by one
onto the brief
shining carpet

(Published in Progenitor 50, Art and Literary Journal, 2015.)