Just to see October,
the melancholic
strands of auburn
in her golden hair. To feel
the hint of bitter chill
in her romantic breath. Her scent,
inescapable: dry, leaf, orange, mulch.

Sideways, long-shadow moment watch
her in oak trees
as she so gently
undresses them
with merciless hands that even the breeze
is in love with.
Red brown yellow leaves
singing, dancing down sidewalks
in the tumble
of October’s assertive sigh.

Moon and midnight agree
with crickets’ songs, and they
praise October in vivid ebony skies
clarity unseen
by any other than October