September (quiet autumn things)

With autumn, I'm a quiet thing, 

the skirt of fog trailing as

engines whine alive. Go find me

among the grinning burs, restless 

with some tale of me; in 

cyclones of dust; my kiss 

on every balmy blade of grass and 

blushing leaf. 

One day, I will shake the bones out of these trees. 

I know that you want more from me.

But today I watch the red sun 

between seams of rain clouds, curled 

up in some spot of warmth, a 

quiet thing with autumn - let me sleep.