September

There was gold in the tree

looking nervous and alone

Dripping through the green like a neglected candle

like a melted crayon frozen mid run-

caught

Quietly, it whispered secrets with the cold uncoiling in the air

The buildings whine that mornings now rouse them

with quiet and with dark

The birds are too busy to sing and

the sun has burned too hotly this summer

He’s begun to sleep early and sleep in

There’s a war going on,

mirrored in the clothes around me

Sweaters and flip flops, Tanks and jeans

The colors are shifting like they are in the trees

I turn to the gold, dripping through the green

hearing her whispers in the air

“It’s September,” she smiles excitedly.

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