And, as a gift to you readers this morning, and a reminder that my life is not summed up by that dismal letter I've been sharing with you all from 1993 — they can break my body but not my soul — a poem about autumn for you.
October's sharp enameled sky,
September's latest rose beside me,
Recidivism of May in a jug
Too common for its rarity:
And I
Here, now,
Ambered in my time
With less inkling of release
From its wounded turning,
Than these urgent skies,
This defiance of red petals,
This evanescent, final, scent.
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