Feeling It
Feeling sharp and bright
as honeycrisp, like myself
at twenty in hiking boots
and oversized sweaters-
bold colors, primal patterns,
careless and scuff-kneed,
and with half a mind to
climb up into the crooked
arms of the dogwood tree,
ringed as I would be among
the bright red leaves, and
with the booming voice
of pep rallies and tailgates,
with the thumping of drums,
to proclaim and praise that
which is temporary, now,
immediately in this season.
This palette of maple, oak,
and birch, these embers,
the sweet abundance of
cider and pumpkins stacked
like wood in the market,
the shortened day, the angle
of the sun, the ticking down
of football Saturdays, the
shortening of shadows and
falling away of degrees, the
closing up of doors, the slow
collapse of Jack-O-Lanterns.
How beautifully we say our
goodbyes amid all of this
passing. How much there is
to love and lose, to watch
drifting past us, a great and
fading reception line. How
rich our sudden texture, how
alert our senses at Goodbye,
Goodbye, Goodbye.
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