The Poet Speaketh

And this is what she had to say:

     A Poem after "Synchronicity, or Fall is Coming"

     Buried at your heart
     is October, refusing
     to line up and pass neatly by
     with other months.
     You will avoid the frost of February,
     the sweat of August--
     October's campfire clings to your hair
     and the marching of ghosts and goblins
     accompany your steps.

     Fall is coming. We hold hands
     against the cold, bracing ourselves
     for the flames.

A big thanks to Editor Girl for her rendition. Seriously, I could not have done that myself. And isn't it interesting to see the difference in how an essayist and a poet approach language and expression? I'll say.