Shiloh's
Ode to After Autumn
the light
goes out now, much quicker
the air is thin, with a chill
the squirrel seems just a bit thicker
I get closer, but not quiet, still
............we're not at the lake quite as often
................when there, there's a damp from
the east
...................the ball, tossed, lands on
land softened
......................then rolls less the length
of my leash
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Why is the above getting
lower
why do the leaves riot and rust
why does the Orange rise slower
and, "let's go," no maybe, a must
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I believe it
gets white; I remember
I believe it gets pure; I think
it's a clean carpet they call December
made to run through, roll in, and drink
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it's a ghost of a gift, I'm recalling
just appears, disappears, reappears
first falls, doesn't stay, just stalling
weathered reasons refusal to fear |
Then, when all sounds
make my throat run
just when my bark is for keeps
it falls with a feline-like motion
December, white, wet, and nose deep
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