By Gayanne Ramsden
The air smells like onion, And autumn grapes, And leaves rolled up and crushed in your mind. Pumpkins and marigolds flame Color-bright upon eyes That see flowers bloom in the season's slow-brilliant death Under a warm grey Hallow' s Eve sky. Leftover summer roses and summer children's voices Linger into fall. A white-haired man pauses at his door, I, part of his memory, he becoming a piece of mine, We glance hello, then drop our gaze Downward to leaves golden and brown Becoming winter's under-snow harvest, That will feed the spring. Still autumn day, stop and Place yourself in my recollections Where sometime in eternity A breath-held autumn's dusk of roses and grape leaves will come again to me . Gayanne Ramsden