September - How

September
How I am grieving your goodbyes already.
Suffused in the low lie of your sun
as over high top mountains, that stretch to reach
winter ascends earlier than they would aspire.

September
How you tumble shelved
in pleats of migrant birds.
My lips flavoured of the ripened skins
whose laden trees courtly, curtsy down
red fruits golden scattered on the ground.

September
How the mind ruins that
which was the weightlessness of summer.
Vengeful winter -
gradually encroaching still as yet
with its ugly face withdrawn -
waiting time
to stretch its withered toes.

September
How when you glide away
my heart shall -  be wounded...