September plays pick-up sticks with branches,
goldenrod turns the world upside-down.
Summer hangs ripe, ready to get it over with; thumbs a ride.
I tell myself I will be fine if there is plenty of fresh air.
I shut my eyes tight enough to see your face.
Inhale, count to one hundred,
listen to the advice of cicadas.
Autumn trees drop everything in order to survive.
tk/ September 2014
R.A.D. Stainforth reads ... love the delivery of that last line ...