The Bones of Summer

Time and change, the melancholy of autumn, aging

The Bones of Summer



I walk  barefoot

across the bones of summer,

feel them crackle between my toes.

There is no warmth here anymore

only the vision, the scent,  the taste,

of autumn curling up by the fire

that hasn’t yet been lit.



Is it curiosity that led me here

or the tracks of summer

still hidden in the marrow

of these old bones?



Perhaps it is only foolish desire

that warms my hands,

that haunts my dreams,

keeps me walking

on skeletons

and wishing for spring.