The year has entered its change,
sizzling one day, chilled the next.
Even the goldfish feel it, madlyspawning one last time, leaping
out of their world into mine.
The neighbors' house goes up,power tools in the afternoon,
hammers and saws and bare-
chested men. The close-mownfields bloom with footballers,
bright and loud; red pants, white
jerseys, vivid yellow helmets.All this to say that even
in autumn there is lust,
there is love.
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The year has entered its change,
sizzling one day, chilled the next.
Even the goldfish feel it, madly
Hmm my area has gone back to summer.(Yuck)Thoughly a great poem. last stanza took me be surprise. Great one.
Posted by: Cathy | 19 August 2004 at 07:02 PM
Almost anyone can manage surprise. What's difficult is making the surprise seem also natural, following a sort of meta-logic, as you do here. Well done.
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I guess none of these typepad sites actually "remember personal info" anymore. Bloody nuisance.
Posted by: Dave | 21 August 2004 at 08:43 AM