| <- Back to main page
|
by William Huhn
Sunburned girl
who makes love so clear
touch; her skin will play
like air across leaves
above where she has led
you: to a grave.
Do not go yet. Autumn,
and she will be your dearest
one in her way
going along with you.
You will have all
the leaves from her hair
falling—to catch. Try
as you can, but she
likes them to drop
again to earth.