Doesn’t purple burn?
Doesn’t it melt
languid
into gold?
Apollo stokes
the coals of dawn
gilding the sky
with alchemy.
Doesn’t purple burn?
Doesn’t it melt
languid
into gold?
Apollo stokes
the coals of dawn
gilding the sky
with alchemy.
pinning it with gold
autumn day retires
iridescently furloughed.
Thanks more to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
somewhere
November sun
sets
kindling clouds
trailing stars
in cosmic
opal’d
nets.
one glorious autumn day
found themselves entangled
decided it time to play
they leaf-tickled each other
tree-giggled susurrously
bouncing and dodging mid-air
lobbing soft gold at me.
when the world was turning gold
shadows mocked in counterplay:
tomorrow you’ll be too old.
Is this the gold of fall I see?
It’s just July! But life goes fast —
so short the Now
so long the Past.
was awash in gold
a molten sunset
blindingly toled.
Weightless lava
plating all,
transient karats
on my wall.