An autumn wind blew in
Sighing on the sill
A fluttering of waning dreams
A song of purple Aster
Heavy with the bee
Of Sunflowers swinging drunkenly
And Queen Anne’s lace
Bejeweled
A touch of night still
Guards the swollen grape
The warming sun
Concocting spices never named
Or bottled
The scents of childhood long ago
Besetting me
They wander past and
Waft against the shore of me
They drift me down a country road
A nip of frost beneath my toes
The glassy air
The cobalt blue
A rush of color at my feet
Ah, September
To be young!
She has me wholly in her grasp
And leads me hungry
To this memory
I pluck the essence from the laden vine
And hold the last few breaths
Of summer
On my tongue




Sara Mathews     October 2017