Home to Hades
returning
Autumn is the springtime of my soul,
cool air,
crisp as an apple in honeyed slants of sunlight
air that doesn’t cloy or cling, sweet but light,
tea olive on a breeze arriving
pleasant and poignant
as an overdue apology written off as uncollectible
many yesteryears ago, pomegranates
glow into ripeness, grow heavy with hidden jewels
waiting to burst
into something alive with the flavor of life,
trees change their vestments from the darkened green of late summer,
adopting October’s crimson-pumpkin incandescence
in flurries
of
f
l
o
a
t
i
n
g
l
e
a
v
e
s
golden patches weaving emerald to scarlet,
tattoos of dapples of light dripping onto rain-wet leaves
lining forest paths in a mosaic of burnished memories,
summer prancing barefoot into the arms of her lover
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Ekke Ekke Ekke Ekke Ptang Zoo Boing!
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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