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In the middle ages
these roughed and scuffed decades
between newborn crocus snow-melt-nursed and
dried hydrangea blooms sepia-skinned and papery thin
I earned the right to wear sapphires
and burn my mademoiselle mistakes with wisdom-fires

it took me a while to grow into my autumn season
—the autumn side of September
hair once a cascade of summer’s solar flare
now but faded flaxen streams spilled by Harvest moon
though hazel eyes reveal kaleidoscope enchantment —
no more the garish girlish shade of summer grass
but rather a muted Nature diluted sage-green 
specked with autumn sunset amber
flecked with maple bark brown;
tints of color hint at my September birth

September ma chérie  when you whisper low
I hear cumulus collide cotton-soft
your wind-song croons my name
as yellow willows bend over the bank
like queens about to wash their troubles from tresses 
prayers of praise I float abundant as corn-fruit-maize
away they fly un-weighed 
to skies rosé like sunlit swans

shadows lengthen as sun without swagger 
sags upon indigo hills
September brings me closer to the western edge
where my elder-berry soul will someday fledge
life no longer noon-time-high
a time of ending   a time of beginning
diurnal dust both gold and coal weighed and balanced 
equinox an unwinding clock
as sapphire-fire melts tart Virgo to free buttery Libra 
revolution gives way to evolution

ah September so sincere  as we harvest memories 
I realize things I don’t miss
summer energy uncorked 
like shaken champagne spray
now gives way to days oak-aged like Chardonnay
I savor reflections in facets of sapphire nights
as fire-flight-phoenixes fly ember-seeds of dreams
into spiral galaxies where Pegasus reigns  
my imagination— rein free— rains in watercolors
across paper reams of fated nights brisk with a nip 
playful-painful like puppies’ milk-teeth
that nick against my skin not yet sweater ready
but I allow a woolen embrace for winter lay ahead

in the wood-stove-season of September 
sapphire spirit burns with a fire in my throat
I sing without fear  
my tears   my cheers   alive in my verse
memoirs of Venus and Mars shared with the universe
September  are you listening?
together we will ripen like pale wheat sheafs
as we celebrate and commiserate
my second coming of age 
and your muted season of silver and sage

it took me a while to grow into my autumn season
—the autumn side of September
born of your change-of-life-womb  
I return your vintage sister
together we’ll lose the mettle of our rusted metal 
to the spindle pricks of hoarfrost
but never the star of our sapphire stone
your copper canopy will fall  
my copper veins will freeze
when winter man grows his ancient ice-beard long
his reason as old as his rime is cold
as he paints us faint in December’s antique white

 —but my blood and bosom 
will always hold your apple cider spice and fire pit glow
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