Take me down to curled leaf,
it falls along the edge
and leans from the fence with the warped tomato.
Pull out the weeping end of summer,
its fragrance bites,
though sweet the taste.
Take me down into this cool morning,
oh, sun, so layered in rising mist,
and touch me sweatered.
The bare shoulder has danced summer brown
into folly’s open fire with a sing along
and I can still hear it echo in the ripple.
I see grace moving now in the rake,
a piece of last October still stuck in its teeth,
leaning against the turn of time
watching the sky for the first dance
of the Liquid Amber.
Take me down with flannel sheets and the window open to cool
the warmth of autumn nights with you.