Sunday, September 23, 2012

Equinox on Prudence Drive

The dogwood in fall
red leaves and berries

Curled in waving
transcendent swirl

Of how immeasurable death is,
how fertile its black soil.

The red and yellow flowers
stand like angels in the shag

Of withering greens,
shown bones of trees.

Each house allows its ghosts
a creaking jaunt about the place.

The smell of gold pine needles
and the sawdust of first harvest.

The blue mailbox
becomes the center of the world.

4 comments:

Hannah Stephenson said...

"sawdust/harvest"---those sounds are buzzing nicely in my ears after reading this.

Jack said...

You've been writing soil and sensory language recently...nature is announcing itself, even online.

"Of withering greens,
shown bones of trees."

I could not resist quoting that. Prosodic and lilting, while employing "s" throughout...excellent.

Erik Donald France said...

In the Word of Iggy Pop, "Approval."

erin said...

ohmygod! you won my heart with the blue mailbox! jesus, i want to punch you on the shoulder for how beautifully effective you came upon me here!

oh, all. the language is lovely,

The red and yellow flowers
stand like angels in the shag

Of withering greens,
shown bones of trees.


i am really really keen on this poem, william.

xo
erin