Read Poem: a futile attempt at goodbye, by Sam Spring

grass clippings and gasoline.
in the wake of the rolling boil
of august, before the high of
uneven heat, it’s now autumn

who cradles the earth in her
hands. southbound winds
mix the yellows, reds and
oranges at the foot of the

great oak in the yard and paint
the sky in a flutter with an easy
grace outside of time. in the
kitchen, the smell of rosemary

set in olive oil sings earthy notes
in a hot copper pan — a swath
of the warmth and the love and
the things that have been.