A sequence of 49 single-form interrelated
poems to reflect a whole mythology.
I sing this autumn
after mid-summer's dying, before I turn cold
to mid-winter's desolate wisdom.
I may not write verse better than this. September
is colours of the earth, is beaten gold.
Sunlight conceals the patina.
For me all that is certain
is in the shadow. She is alive - in the gold,
in the harvest, in the torch-light procession.