Jennifer Burd – “September Song”

How near the stars at season’s close,
in day’s late blue, how bright

like one with fever, a sliver moon
slicing deep and deeper.

Dying is swaying in the trees,
darkening, drying, falling,

and the tumbling stalks and vines,
gnarled and grooved, remember.

How near the stars at season’s close,
in day’s late blue.

Crickets tell the garden story – so full
of its own going away – how

it drops the spent hours that rise again
with morning birds, scented dew,

and fragrant decay. And you and I still,
and still changing, seeing this autumn through.

How near the stars at season’s close
in day’s late blue.