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

*