september has snapped
perfectly into place

the cool of the air
the linger of light

the ants have slowed their workload
the cicadas have grown silent

a brown squirrel happily hurries past
an acorn in its mouth

when death comes for me
i would like to think

that i will not lock the door
draw the curtains

and secret myself beneath the bed in the guest room
when life came for me

i did not run and hide
and look how all that turned out?