Every autumn

every autumn

golden leaf we through an
oh so shimmering at our steps!
the fallen scales of the summer extravaganza:
and the seep of the damp air fingers our lungs
laughing at the crackles
as we swish to the (on heavy feet) gate;
numb finger the (searching each one twice) pockets
and dropping as we fill the air with
coughing grey breath, keys and things.

Smile to smile, coffee calls without hot vapours
in our intent to sit and sip our idea into being
and pretend autumn is locked outside
the door, pressing panes of window,
but we won't let him in (to swirl over our feet)
Because he's like a wet dog
longing to shake himself dry on us.

And this autumn, to me we make, is how
it shall every (autumn) year be.

Copyright ? 1996 / 1997 David Taub (UKpoet@aol.com)

Acknowledgements:
Language of Souls Publications Inc, 2000

Details of Language of Souls can be found on most online bookstore
listings, as well as David Taub's website: www.ukpoet.cjb.net