Ol' Friend.

Autumn approaches. I am driving through town. The sky is dark and my windshield patters with one of the last summer rains. I spot the first few leaves to fall as they dance like naturals in mellow and heavy change. The feel is a fat and round hum. The Ablum Leaf skipping through the background. A roue, I feel. A roue of God and His fingers moving through my soup. The trees are luminous in the dynamic light like a maiden in the morning sun, golden locks streaming and teeming; my eyes are cloudy as my fingertips aspire to touch that leaf on the corner. Alone, I consume my dollar fifty blueberry pie ice cream in a cone, one scoop. Alone, I feel so real I could touch myself as someone else. Alone, content, silent, sacred. Vulgarity bubbling away like sulfur. At 4:44 PM, I think it was wine. At 4:45, I think is was milk. At 5:02 AM, I know it was orange juice. The cellos shave away, the crickets salt away, the leaves fall away this night on the other side of my bedroom wall.