In September, my friends
drink deep the dregs of summer, the honey
light and backlit leaves.
Let your bones be wild
strawberries beneath the waning awning.
Let summer rise
away like dust around hooves
heading home.
Let your hands shed their tan
finger by finger
like velvet gloves after the masque.
Let these weeks like rivers
glide past as though buoyed by an inkling of oil.
Then, when frost creeps in on green grass
you may glimpse your beloved's hair
suddenly white.
In September, my friends by Monica Meneghetti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.monicameneghetti.com.