Autumn Equinox

by Mattea Gernentz

we alight over cobblestone streets,

pious as magpies, jocular as jays.

the clocktower's somber toll

means nothing to us then,

'til the sudden enchantment is cast—

the morose wind tugging at our coats

as frail leaves swirl and skitter.

the gusts seem to prod, beckon even, and

somehow I know that now, oh fickle instant,

we could walk on water if we tried

for the evening is young and we are alive

while so many slumber, cold and still, underground.

so perhaps all that remains, as the night

wanes aflame, is to wonder and to wait.

what does one do with a stirred soul?

ST.ART does not own the rights to any images used in this article.