heavenlystranger

in honor of everyone liking the changing seasons as much as i do here's a fall poem, as inspired by asvetic's journal
Time of Day

Two years ago there was no need to write the poem
the sound of the girl moving her feet
like dry leaves across the pavement was enough.
Now the noise aches
and even though it hasnt rained yet, he feels it
the red slip of girl passing like paper under his fingertips.
Look away, she said and he did, looking instead
at the layers of days softly folding themselves
up between their bodies.

Its much later now and the leaves are still scratching
but this time there is no cause.
They dance before the wet randomly
though he cannot resist writing that they are bright
on pale, as if she were still pinned over his heart.
His eyes close
rapt, he waits out the hours with this thought
burning inside him like a cherry.

Three o clock, three-thirty
calm
the day could go either way

by the h.s.