Change of Season

The rain came in
my sleep heavy as draft
horses wading through
golden fields of barley
honey amber and sweet.

I rose as dreamers will
sometimes, walked out
among late adonis blues
and irises while the fading
sepia moon was just meeting

Orion striding along the last
rise before the wide ocean,
the last month before the fall
when rain returns
and the world grows

a little quieter, a little older,
colder still. My lost true
love breached the sky
where the rain comes in
and this sleeping mind

remains forever
seeking summer.