Autumn's Deathly Rust Poem by Ray Quesada

A man can make a hungry angel blush
red wine wets their silent wind-blown lips
sweet summer pine, dark-green and rich,
to the earth, sets down its paint-brushed tips
Late afternoon, heavy sun turns the world
into a quiet, hollow, blood-orange pearl
flooded with a lush and lovely, deathly rust
The air is charged and alive; serene and crisp

I sit and watch a brilliant, dancing squirrel

-9-24-13; 2: 55 a.m.-