between blue sky, blade grass
spaces, I sense a shift up and down
my anchored essence, the fall
of autumn night draws me,
prunes easy strides in sandals
even as it streams red, gold,
amber, they drizzle on the sides
of grifting breezes, excoriate notions,
left over pyres of love in the backseat.
loneliness in autumn
is flecked with copper rust;
dropped from above,
it's reached middle age on cobblestone paths
and balding dew-grass
seen from the side of hoarfrost.
late morning birds languish
on fence posts, black body flocks
precipitate, clot the lawn;
no meditation strums among
curse tongues, jab beaks --
only thoughts of abandoned love.
the brittle wind wings apace,
strifes my brow, whistles gravel songs
while it seeks deep spaces
among broken clay pots,
wants to hesitate at sequined pools,
but arches its back toward the sun.
Theresa A. Cancro (Wilmington, Delaware, USA) writes poetry and fiction. Some of her poetry has been published on online sites, including Three Line Poetry, Dead Snakes and A Handful of Stones. Her haiku has been accepted for publication in the December 2013 issue of A Hundred Gourds.