Early September,
in the playground children shriek,
the leaves yet to fall.

We, the elderly,
pushing up and pushing down,
elevator ride.

Days like bow strings
arrow-point the rocks
climbed on the hunt.

Weedy field, I bring a
bunch of posies.
Please accept them.

Hope

I left it yesterday,
my cure-all imaginary
rainbow. Left it for dead.
Still, it tries to shine; and
sometimes it does--if I let it.

Lemon colored as motes in sun,
tales of flood survive. Funny how
the rain falls, goes.

Cool September, good time for a hayride
and its innocent kisses. The moon too is
fresh, though soon it will be harvest.

In the deep blue of my eye,
a panther lurks. Entralled,
I whisper stay in our forest,
count breaths like leaves,
count our rings of growth.
Just don't come out. And
we will both be safe.

Come on cupid,
stay with the spirit--
curb that dog you
call love. I didn't
call but she dogs me
anyway.