The first yellow trees; what do they mean?
It grows more elusive with each passing year.
It has something to do with the past,
how memories must be banished gently,
summer let out of one's system,
letting go of the need to sigh.
The first yellow rivers, when the trees finally cry,
like poets sharing the beautiful with the beautiful.
There is a line of green, crickets sing on one side,
on the other the stillness comes alive. In the last
sunset of September over the Quinnipiac River,
golden mountains answer a golden sky.