Fall Arrives in the Finger Lakes

The poets always say “if”
The mosquitoes say “now”
Exchange is a puzzle

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Up river empty houses
Lean in the wind

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When writing
Add footnotes—
George Washington
Spilled blood over there

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By those birches
People tried in vain
To silence anxiety

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Tattered maple tree
Squandering light
With its falling leaves

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The summer has been dark as a bed

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The poets always say “if”
As in: if the soul gets loose

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When I close my eyes
I see Winter’s mask:
Gold animals

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto