The Sun’s Power
Recedes
my body contracts
Wise to the oncoming Chill
*
Birds Gather
the Smell of thirsty leaves
books and classroom doors
the Sound of Bells,
distant Now
*
One more year
One more groove
in my palm
many more grey filaments
Connecting me Forward
And Back
to so much Time
Walking this Earth
Be it Half a blink
In the Span of this Spinning planet
All the same,
Crickets
Mindlessly pursue their rubbing
Now to keep Warm
until overpowered,
they Drop
*