Ancient rocks hold sacred space

In September’s river flow

Untold tempests have effaced

Crag edges nimbly erased

 Form sculpted bowls that bestow

 A still splash of life encased

Amid her curling vertigo.


Deep into the sodden quag

I trod the withering phlox

Despite the temperate lag

Scorpio sets back the clock

And the sacred law crows brag

Of Autumnal equinox


Under the birch canopy

Fronds quiver probable cause

My sorrow, he’s here with me

He’s October’s effigy

Gilded confetti applause

Proclaims that he thinks of me

Beauty fades, fall’s menopause.


In November’s deference

In surging eventide suite

Before snowy days commence

O’er the underbrush sweet cadence

Of chartreuse and bittersweet

Resplendent hues of senescence

Obscure the path beneath my feet.


© 2019 Deborah Garcia

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