Verdun, 1917 by Felix Vallotton
I have felt the bough
Of summer break,
The tiny intricate things
Of an atmosphere
Falling away like the lines
Of our memory, fine sketched
Yet fading so quickly.
The fast winds of fall
Have taken the people of
This town into the hearth
Of their warm houses,
Same as they have pulled
The petals off each daisy
And dandelion, their bald heads
Now waving in a season unrelenting,
The browning faces of defeat flags
That sway in front of school houses
And the fancy businesses on main.
The night falls so quickly now
And those most alone amongst us
Are drawn into the light
Of small town bars and corner cafes.
As for myself, I am still rearranging,
The cornerstone idea of some
Inward abstract illumination,
My inspiration so scattered
It is unnamable, so I place myself
Across the page in contrasting colors,
In sequences that lack proper meaning.
I only know how right the lone strokes
Of my own soul feel as they blow
The pages open and into each other.