The Autumn woman of the headlong moon

At the summer’s end with the stream froth,
the wood-thumbed leaves turning reddish gold
and the bird flight south, as the cold crisp snap

Flickering runs like the whisking hare- fells and
quills the path. …she, the Autumn woman of the
headlong moon walks softly in the wooded patch

Where late flowers are bundling down before sleep;
her eyes amber, so still, so eternal, watching the sleek
and long wind rustle in the misty eve, watching the

White wash clouds down the night sky; listening to
the whippoorwill on the moss branch and the tapping
of thunder in the distance. …comes the snow like

Owls wings gliding quietly perching ground; she with
a gentle touch cinder light, glowing shawling trees on
the wooded island, tidings for the breath of life.

Copyright © 07/06/2016 lance sheridan