September here feels like September
there in New York, the world parallels
for a brief month. We are warming up
as they are cooling off. I like your wool
cashmere blend and I liked that pretzel
between your teeth. We went to visit
the ducks for the second time this year
but the pond was being cleaned. So, how
does a pond survive in the wild we ask,
but the trees shrug and practice sleepy
indifference. Most days you are the trees:
supercilious, but necessary. I am the pond
when the ducklings have grown: lazy. Now
I am the better version of the pond, myself
but in Summer I will want to curl my hair
and take up smoking again; I will forget
about poetry and listen to Tupac almost
daily. If the flowers were blooming forever
we would hate their pollen and abhor
the world’s honey. If you are truthful
you would miss the crunch of Autumn
leaves beneath your shoes.

(via napmag)