friday, august 12

christ it's late and i'm exhausted
awake for no good reason

the other morning i stepped out my door
and the air was cool, the sky overcast
a few hours ago a sudden wind came across
out of the mountains
there will be other signs but these are enough
the season's coming loose around the edges
you can feel it in your fingertips if
you hold an arm out the window of a moving car
down on pearl street everybody knows the
students are poised, waiting
the bars are quiet; they will shortly be uninhabitable

i write this poem
every year.