Van Morrison rocks my gyspy
soul as my eyes paint jewels
On the trees outside my window.
Time means less than nothing to a
late summer evening.
Laughter wanders through the branches
of time paused in its unchanging change to
be this day.

The particular green of the grass today
tempts me to run away--
Not December's urge
to hide myself in winter's shadows
and wait for light to waken me.
September wants me to find the place
where the road ends and
keep going.