The First Day of Autumn

The first day is not the equinox, when the earth tilts past its glorious prime, but rather,
The first day we smell fire and leaves on the wind, intermixed with pine 
Then we know it’s here and sit back and smile
In the promise that, though we’ll die, there’s life again on the other side

And in my private thoughts what stirs, always, is the third grade,
(How closely scent connects the mind to memory, closer than a kiss)
As I see a field trip to the farmer’s market, when Janet Clark's batteries dropped from her camera and I was there to pick them up, all the pumpkins around us applauding for me, for grabbing the stroke of luck, 
Right place, right time, aspiring to be a gentleman and kind,
Though such things go out of style, they seem to be hard-wired as the desire
I already knew then—for the whisper of soft skin
And her bright brown eyes
My heart already so lonely with longing

And I remember, in ’85, standing next to the parade that filed all the high school heroes by us, their pious worshippers— 
We could not know their hearts stirred with any anxiety, how bright their smiles and their homecoming dresses, their hair pressed to impress us
And they did
And again,
The burning beauty of lonely longing was on the wind
Deep as any autumn orange
Smoldering the hole within every human heart, so desperate to be satisfied
We grow up, we remain lovesick children, writing the song of our hearts with dust and chalk 

I am strengthened in my climb by these memories,
Pictures in my mind which are ever mine and my greatest treasures
Gold which goes with me, consigned to some place beneath the daily pace of life, but always rising to remind me that, My God
The world is fair and bright
And that it is no small miracle to harbor such worlds inside us

So now, fire-on-the-wind, my old friend, ask me your question, once again: 
Can I enter in? 
Into the lonely, 
To make of it some poetry in verse or in how I spend my longing and my time 
And can I bless now the young hearts and minds being kissed of fire for their first time?

Perhaps at a table tonight, with wine, I will tell you, my love, of those places behind and hear of yours
Though none now shine for me with stars as bright as the light echoing in your eyes
As we incline the conversation back through time, tilting it like the earth’s axis
We, too, become turned until, at that perfect angle, all becomes still
And the firelight shines revealing the world that spins inside us

Our good glad work now is handing on some world, like wheat, to the children at our feet
To feed the lonely of their precious hearts
And eyes that are meant to burn like funeral pyres, the phoenix to give flight 
And minds that will carry memories, I hope, 
Always kissed by smoke and fire

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