Only Autumn Knows where and when
she will end.
Each morning seems earlier than the last.
Sun sets earlier than summer-days past.
Dawn delays rising while I do not.
Sleep steals in easier despite afternoon naps.
Time ceases to be set by my clock.
Circadian rhythms have been unlocked.
I fall into Autumn’s wind-swept arms,
happily blown in, after the Equinox.
I rise in the dark to write poetry and prose.
What is revealed only Autumn knows.
Yawns precede each word and phrase,
happy to explore Autumn’s up-ending by-ways.
