LXII. Songs O' September

“There is a quiet pink that softens in the sky 

And as September sings 

I feel open and free

I no longer have to try.

Crispy autumn air 

Upon my auburn hair 

Trickling like honey 

Through everglade eaves

I take flight 

For the summer has been bright. 

Dusk kisses me silly 

And I smile back at it.

The moon brightens and holds still 

Whole, round, herself!

The mentos sun blazes blue

 And I shine 

Happy that I know me 

And that me 

Knows you.”

The Little Martian waxes eloquent and I look back at him, surprised and a little misty eyed. 

“What's got you this mushy?” I ask him, half joking, half bewildered.

The Little Martian flushes olive green. 

“Autumn.” He says softly, a silly smile on his face.