Coffee brews thick and foamy today with
Hints of equinox in the cream.
It is a morning to sit and mourn with summer dew as
Sun sweeps the grass dry and the
Hydrangea flowers reach for September.
There is shadow on the notebook page and
Ink in the margins. The coffee cup sits warm and empty
Its fragile rim kissed fuchsia
Stains of future splayed in grounds.
And the hydrangea flowers pink in
Celebration of August and the writer peels the
Sun from the sky and the
Earth wheels toward autumn.