Autumn Interrupts
It's easy to forget what autumn means In tired lands of sun-stuffed tedium; Assassin breeze the blackfly never weans, The forecast is extremely medium. It’s easy to forget those ragged skies Crushed, throttled, splintered by the frigid light That setting, cold to scent and warm to eyes, Lets slip the wind and stirs dead leaves to flight. And so-- I went out walking in the night That was not born yet. All the trees were white. The roofs above My head were bare. There was no color Anywhere Save only in The twisting air Where summer’s ghost was bright.
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--Robert MacArthur
Robert MacArthur studies philosophy in the graduate program at Catholic University.
