Poetry

Cessation had no direct threats.
You had stopped thinking.

A shadowy future starts hating
you and your financial motives.

The September light falls on leaves
ready to go, yellow-brown-red.

You are still warm, still receptive
of the hollyhocks to welcome you.

A guiltless flight with singing birds―
homing to their mating abodes.

You want to arrive
without qualms, without fainting.