Fall

An exercise in Spanish led to a poem in English... :)

I rode August

like a hasty, fleet-footed horse.

We raced to the gate

of Fall

and August fall apart into

scarlet leaves borne on

a wind of yellow lace.

 

I leaned upon September

like a rod of ash

on an amber staircase,

cut into the dusty, golden

mountain.

Each mirror-bright step

reflected the dying sun

and the glare turned my rod to amber too.

 

October swallowed me

like an owl consumed by Night.

I flung myself from the summit

like an inventor's son expecting

wings to unfold.

The thin black air

turned to tempest as I fell

and the mountain under

the moon

turned to blue-black glass.

 

And November, ah, November.

November lifted me up and carried

me on the winding forest stream

just before it froze over.

In November's arms, I rested

the space where my wings ought to have been,

and the stars above froze over

like bubbles in the celestial creek above mine.

Am I the reflection or the reflected?

Author's Note

As always, feel free to critique...