A flurry of leaves chasing
their fellow fallen foliage
round and round
the cobbled courtyard.
The October sun
feebly peeks through
wispy gray streaks
of stratus.
The orb burns
dimmer now
than loose-strung
constellations.
It’s funny how
the autumn cool
dilutes
most everything:
summer’s thrum,
our citrus sun,
the daily weight
of being.
Less than a year
now, I think,
until we’ll both
be leaving.
Next October,
we’ll breathe
a coast over,
embraced by
indelible green.
pm poetry 