Flute In Winter



Children no longer ride their bikes like skating on ice.


Summer  is waning.  The trees are too green

and tired now they do not crackle

the way they did

when May’s raindrop broke through them

and my body pivoted to the new flowers 

pulling my face and my arms around with it to them.

I cared they cared the flowers cared but summer now is waning


Flowers no longer smell ready to make love to the air 

or its things.  The rain is like slobber now, 

and the skin of women less pregnant and only more bold.


Men have grown despondent

as though they might have been adventurous once

but never learned to sail like Marlins 

or fly like mountaintop silhouettes of dawn.


The fecund burgeoning masquerade of death

gathers all in its loins now.  


The red canoe leaves of Autumn are already beginning to grin.












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DannyBeatty
Poetry
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