Equinox

Equinox…

Courgettes swell to squamos ooze;
Spent vines cling to the outer edge of the cosmos
Bed, desperate to maintain a grip on summer.

Late September, and summer’s doings come undone.
Drifts of leaves quicken the wood
And nights tighten grip on each new rising sun.

For a few days everything hangs in the balance:
A golden rosette decrees equal measure
To emptied-out beds and a pumpkin’s bright face

While tangible;  the dark end of bright things arrives
With the first grass frost, heightening track and tang of visiting fox:
And unseen, the hound of winter on its scent.

J.K. 22nd September 2016 ©