September Mornings, by Kimberly A. Zajac

in the cooler mornings of September
the smell of earth and mushrooms
is caught in the gossamer
of spider webs I can not see
but feel when I walk through
only that which glistens

a sticky near-invisible thread
clings to my arm bare with a shiver
my throat holding my poetic truth
waiting for the words
my cheek still warm from the pillow I dreamed upon

and I'm captured in the magic it teases of —
i could stay here forever
in this pause between season
when I do not have to be ahead
and before I fall behind
always struggling to catch up

I do not need to confine my freedom
in boots just yet
laced in expectations and calendars
still earthing instead barefooted

I feel the moon drops that fell
from my lunar sister
just last night
ignore the clock, she whispers

I drink in the heady grapes being harvested down the road
I'm near drunk in the cooler mornings of September