the sky perfect blue
and the air clean
all of it crisp like an apple
like a photograph
the old kind stuck in an album
with vibrant color
and time-curled edges
like a childhood memory that surfaces
replacing the current scenery
insistent and now
–waking up early on a holiday break
tearing out of the house
into a morning the slices through your coat
with no destination in mind–
that apple-crisp air
strikes my face
less a slap than a reminder
and i turn and find the sweet spot
where the sun rests
between my shoulderblades
and i am warm and cold
at the same time
–here and there
–now and then
Awesome sensory! I can feel that autumn chill hit me as I read this excellent poem.
Thanks very much!