because while some truths lend themselves to equations, others are best described in verse

indian summer

riddled with heartache,
a spider’s web sways between
the branches of the old walnut
tree in our back yard;
who did the weaving
and what their intentions were
is written somewhere
in the empty space
between each thread,
invisible to predators and to
the innocent. stained and
knowing fingers
reach up to decipher
a single, shimmery strand,
knowing that with
the season’s first storm
the fruit will fall and the echoes
break, the spell,
as all deception,
end.

4 responses

  1. a lot of really powerful lines in this, but
    “stained and
    knowing fingers
    reach up to decipher

    I like the idea of personifying fingers by saying “knowing”.
    I want autumn.

    August 19, 2008 at 11:18 am

  2. Brendan

    Wonderful. Indian summer and the abandoned web are like the fruit of writing poems: a ghostly resonance. We write these things which bear such faint traces of our fingers …

    August 20, 2008 at 9:19 am

  3. Very haunting yet reserved
    it reads like the forest silence
    full of anticipated change

    August 21, 2008 at 7:47 am

  4. a beauty this, nature at her most tempting and haunting.

    August 22, 2008 at 12:23 am

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