Maple and Stone

I breathe deep the last breath of summer.

So much time is lost in blades of grass cut

and left to dry into linen slivers of August.

I envision you, standing on round smooth stones;

their grays, whites and pewter reflecting

the angles of your face.

Autumn is near and I float like a maple leaf-

orange and golden- by your feet of stone.

Will your stamp me into the rocky ground?

It matters not... Autumn is near.