Turn

I feel it coming - rapture sweet -
like the calling that leads birds south
and wind about
and cloud up
and leaves down.

I feel it thrumming - on my tongue -
like the green and gray of the city I love
or kindling leaping into flames
(within my blood; between my veins)
or wind about
and cloud up
and leaves down.

I'd stain my hands with blackest soot -
a breath alone laid dark and free,
or rain on me -
all over me -
(and this is how your lips will be)
like mist in my mouth and rain on me,
I hear the coming winter
speak.

~
Age when written: 15