Low beams of light

shimmer in leaves;

flutter of canaries’ wings,

bristle of fox fur.

Even the tamarack

has traded its green innocence

for a tattered coat of burnt umber.

You arrive with your flattery,

your sultry songs, where

buffleheads dive and bob

among wind-driven wavelets

that spark in the sun.

I have no choice but to

succumb to your charms.


Lainie Senechal

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>