The Turning

I used to look
For the seasons turning
Green leaves crumpling
Into brown
The air’s
Cold kiss, caressing
Goose bumped skin
I used to look
For the turning
When days
Stayed under
Star lit quilts
Taking time
To wake
This year
The turning
Came to me
Those first leaves
Scuffed against me
Jolting me from
My busy slumber
I realised,
Nostalgia tinged
With sadness
I’d missed the turning
But the turning
Had not
Missed me
There is a
Turning, taking
Place in me
A wrinkling, precursor
Of the crumpling
Though pretence
Still works for now
There is a turning
A craving to cease
My busy slumber
And waking,
To watch,
In silence
This turning
To feel again
The still breeze
Of eternity
Flowing through
Time’s transience
To feel it’s kiss

Welcoming me

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