Sarah Zale

Autumn  

I.

Fall nods to the passing of summer
without once calling it angel. Grass
pales and trembles in the low
wait of the sun as the days hide
in the stretch of shadows. Cedars,
reflected along the shore, sweep
across the bay like wings.

II.

The face of death takes on
a family resemblance. You open
a drawer and voices go silent.
You stare off at nothing. You’ve
forgotten which plants bloom
through September. The ruby leaf
of a maple cries out as it falls. You
cup your ear to catch a word. It floats
like a thought on the tip of your tongue.

 

Return to Volume 4.3 | First published in Volume 2.3

 

 

 

 
 

 

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