I Have Slipped The Marigold Stitch

I have slipped the marigold stitch

of heart murmuring autumn and

come to tell you this: that memory persists beyond words

the scent of chrysanthemum and leaf mold denoting

late afternoons, the caw of birds erupting over the firework

coloured trees; let the clouds lower in the serendipitous breeze

foretelling their slate colours of blue and orangeish rose

the wild apple tangle and the cider thoroughfares of my enclosure

and the moon pumpkin old gold drifting over the former prairies

stay my delights let them not vanish utterly

but the murmur of autumn presages everything

I weep for, all the garnet dusks and I would gather them

all, the rust flowers

tied fast with this worn ribbon of tremulous amber.

that signifies, perhaps, this is the last.

mary angela douglas 21 september 2021