Weep with Me, September
Weep with me, September. The embers of your days burn with wakened grief— the thief came to kill, and all will not be well for a while yet. Where leaves and tears and people fell, we knelt, gaping, trembling, broken on these tokens of evil— my will and mind, lisping, your crisp, clean blue, the hue of blood. Cruelty has fingers now and lingers, putrid, in the air where deeds were…














