In September

here on the narrow path

i've mown through

the wild meadow

my own way to guess

canada goldenrod

wingstem yellow crownbeard

as tall as i am tall

waving listening laughing

in the blue light

in the distance

a violent world torn

with horrors anger greed

soldiers on

in the field of wild grasses

ripe with seed

i whisper again

to the ones i love

hand in my hand

they whisper back

even though they’re gone