the allegheny is steaming,
loitering its way to the
monongahela. it will join
the ohio, jointly weaving
with the mississippi, on a
junket to the gulf, an arm’s
length to the sea.
naked trees have discarded
their cinnamon leaves. they
are bohemians foreseeing
forever and a day. beat poets
rejecting autumn as a temperate
season. black bears sleeping in
their hollow bellies.
bugle songs of the swan are
faint, an evening sky mute, the
stars obscure. ambient harmony
will have its dominance. this is
the beginning of the languishing
months. be with it with a zealous
heart. winter it will be.

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