The Scent of Fall is Wet
A Slight damp slope
Leads down to athletic fields.
Each town,
Each time has a new smell.
Damp leaves matched with rotting wood,
Grass wet with invisible middle-cloud tears,
Dirt that can't be raked but only moved,
Fall is the season of water.
The breeze of cologne that brings in the college campus kids,
The mornings of cool feet beats and scarved coffee in quads,
Youth is at it's most decrepit state and
Death looms for the rights of innocence.
In time and town you are replaced
By yours or theirs alone.
But your pictures will not hold the center.
The beauty that comes with life and
Your memory jarred by wet birth
Will come to tears when you pass through
What really is the breathing body.
The deep in and the slower out
Matched with time on the brain (like "water" they used to say).
Mirror your efforts of explanation.
Let life touch down its fingers into mud.
