|September lingers in the arms of
Even as a certain crispness calls.
Perhaps some fear she's not yet conscious of
Takes messages as she her pleasure stalls,
Embracing what must bleed, as from a wound.
More frequently, she starts to feel marooned.
Business bustles busily with tasks,
Each answering more questions than it asks,
Reminding her how life must be consumed.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon
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