Mourning Glory
From Wikipen
Autumn is the beginning of a death
from the first midday stroll
where the sun fails to punish,
hovering, benign, in an overcast sky,
the first shudder at the chill
of a crisp morning wind, and
each frail wisp
of chimney smoke
bleakens a funereal sky:
the monochrome of mourning.
I savor the pain of loss
that autumn brings, like
salt tears tasted on the cheek,
like mounting dissonant chords
intensified by the contrast
with the bright melody it follows.
Sorrow seems out of place
in the brazen summer—
how can one mourn
when furious blades of light intrude
through every crack in the curtain?
When the sky grows dim
and the air grows cold
the tears flow freely,
all the stronger
for having been left to steep,
all the sweeter
to at last release.
I revel in the pungent sadness—
the cool October breeze begins
as summer's dying gasp.
