October 8, 2017
A soft rain bathes the dry pines of Carolina
as I drive down a Southern road
into another autumn.
Farewell old loves.
You spoke your truths, and I
shared mine. The world bleeds for something new.
Cloudless Sulphurs flutter over brown fields,
across winding back roads, onto
forever. It is, after all, autumn;
for some, their last now fades to sepia.
The sun will still sparkle from roadside puddles
and woodland sunflowers will shine
like a fresh van Gogh.
Friends, you rode
the fiery horse to far-off wars,
or wandered wild roads without a weapon.
Today, a living mist soothes the trees.
Stubble covers sandy fields.
Soy fades to pale.
Would you tame
the feral soul at last? Friends,
we have striven. Soon, with grace, we yield.