Autumn Waking

I thought I had it

figured out,

Summer's late tail;

Like sleep-walking

at midday

under a huge sky,

along, yes, a familiar trail.

Hours spent about

the slackening sun,

it's ancient flattening

slow in all that unyielding green.

But judgments are frail,

The rout that came,

Was camera-flash quick.

I might have seen

The liminal margin,

The fibril of gold where

the flourishing had been,

that ever promises the same,

yet always disappoints

missing the in-between,

Just as I did.

What instant moment,

What prompts in time,

Is it, that creation appoints?