september

walking at dusk
in this little town
the dog days finally over
but their memory is all over me
the snow cone stand is gone
the one we sat at 
my head against your shoulder
and first felt that feeling
that maybe September could be this
old men in old houses 
with their doors ajar
blue light frames their bodies 
trees
for the first time in years
honest to goodness trees
orange begins to color the peaks
like a golden march
the slow decent towards us
here on the earth
surprise ghosts as I turn a corner
the delight of it
what is gone for good and what is simply changing?
green to yellow
into the dirt
out the other side as tulips
maybe I'll know on the other side of this winter