First Page Poem by Peter S. Quinn

In September
this page is unwritten.
With colors from autumn's earth
turning the tide
to a new dream.
The birds have flown away
or are hiding.
In silver woods somewhere
where 1001 leaves are falling.
I am opening the first page
(to write a song
I yet don't know…) .
Although it’s still only August
in another time.

(Inspiration: First Page by Federico García Lorca:

In March
you go off to the moon.
Leave your shadow behind.
The prairies are turning
unreal.
They’re raining white birds.
And I’m stuck in your forest
& cry
“Open sesame! ”
(Could I still be a child?)
“Open sesame! ”