September Morning

Unexpected first frost

the lightest glaze

across the field

a fine line drawn down the ruckled trunk

of the old cottonwood --

a beard that was not there yesterday

a portent of more white to come

Amid bursts of red and purple

summer’s last revel splayed

in final fevered abandon

sumac,

like the reddened lips of teenage girls

quiver with anticipation

While I see an icy arc

in a color not used

these five months

It drifts like Egyptian gauze

across the pale gold grasses

along the ditch bank

Fuchsia cosmos dip their heads

nodding in humbled obeisance

and poplars drop golden tributes

one

by one

onto the brief

shining carpet

#poetry