
08/25/2025
If I admit it
That there’s something seductive about those purples
And the way summer’s green leaves are smoldering
If I admit it
That the melancholy artist returns with the nightly chill
The one enamored with the scent of rotting earth
If I admit it
What will happen to summer’s wild child- berry juice on her warm skin
It seems such a loss to let one thing fall away
To receive another
And there’s nothing to be done
But prepare
And appreciate the purples
Admit they’re intoxicating
And honor that a time of transition is whole in itself