Guest poem sent in by Sashidhar Dandamudi
(Poem #1384) Autumn
Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by. Now overlap the sundials with your shadows, and on the meadows let the wind go free. Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine; grant them a few more warm transparent days, urge them on to fulfillment then, and press the final sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now, will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening, and wander along the boulevards, up and down, restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.
Notes: The first fall day is here, at this latitude [Sep 29 - ed]. The long sleeves come out of the closet as do dawns after 7.00 am. Light and darkness slice the day almost evenly, two halves of a pumpkin. And as I wander along the boulevards, up and down, only Rilke sings in the wind. Sashi