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.