In September’s Skin

A Poem About Aging

Photo by Kaleb Kendall on Unsplash

My skin feels like September
the way it carelessly pines to toy with the wind’s will
It’s a veiled canopy of the restlessly blown aster
loosening soft petals to lick dust, mad tossed
with the wither of green, green grass to cold rain
But it gleams…
it gleams like it’s still summer
radiating bronzed ends of a tunneled spring
mercilessly creased into the hands of autumn
rattling the smolder of stars within
With flushed cheeks coming undone
it changes color like linen
to the blundered smear of pipe-hope smoke
and all the rainbow-spottings in vain
Clouds nestled between thick of trees
it fills a wandering sky with flagella and flame
dissolving like an old name
trailing behind an empty swing.

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