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October

the lady was curious as to whether I'd
experienced as of yet
the fullness of sweet-cold October:

the damaged leaves, crusty and broken
swept aside by the concrete
Canada geese sailing away
past the 49th parallel


Demeter and her followers
stacking fresh hay
still stinking of wet grass
and grain on the cusp of death

had the moon been so full
a circle of milk ready to splash down
on bitter autumn nights
smelling of mushy pumpkin residue

and the pregnant pause
hanging sharply in Halloween air
about to tumble into frostbite
winter, with wreathes upon front doors

I had tasted October
orange and grey-blue
poignant and cold
witches and goblins hobnobbing sadly
as the summer fades away

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