Glass Head

Cooler nights.

A glass head.

Fall me asleep.

I can see the leaves

dropping

in a month or two.

And then the world

will just be brown.

I never thought

I’d feel this way.

I found it

on the cusp of Fall

about to go dormant.

I’ll lie in the leaves

for as long as you’ll let me.

Little bits

will get caught

in my hair.

I will smell of

a gentle decay.

The wet earth beneath

will dampen my clothes.

The evenings will grow dark.

I’ll get cold.

Fuzzy socks

and soup

and tea

won’t warm me.

Mere hours of sleep

won’t hide

a lack of hibernation.

Golden red

will turn to dark slush

under snow.

The world will go brown

except for my blood.

Except for

something yellow

sewn into the dirt.

A bulb I hope

will burst forth

come Spring.

It is still Summer.

Green and vibrant.

But I am ready for change.

To feel a freezing wind

against my cheeks.

To see which way

my mind sways

during life’s

next repetition.

To complain that

Summer isn’t here.

For snow to bead

into liquid

on my boots.

To trod upon stiff grass

and frozen mud.

And eventually see

that first day

warm enough

to not need a coat.

With new knowledge,

and more grey hair.