October

OCTOBER The gull senses it Just his usual cry, yet something portends Something come alive A relaxed, quiet intensity Strange, like a trembling, single leaf, or A dozen late, pink roses – one white rose Laying out, watching the sky The grass – damp chill against the bones October’s sensation? Well, not love exactly. Thrill describes it Distant roar of the stadium crowd Footballs in the air Spiraling, - spiraling to nowhere The roar – now it becomes you You become it The visible, the invisible action of it all