(1011) here now is the harvest
a bitter bite to the warm evening, i luxuriate in the reversal of the warm river inside the night is cold, and i am the warm sad of saudade.
a bittersweet but beautiful longing that carves out my rock-like heart, and flows, honey-folded and caramel-tart in the back of my eyelids and the nook of my throat in sonder.
wandering the streets, the neon signs presque viewed, pushing open the door to an old restaurant - the younger times, the older people, faded-salt-sugar romances of good friends and the waitress behind the counter, long left, i was a step aside and sometimes included, a midding.
the world stretches wide and empty-full beyond; we are in autumn, the thick of autumn, the richness of it not austice but an armistice, a worn empty between relentless productivity and lazy languidity; an ocean behind every held-back tear;
i am longing for a time long-gone, watching people on the street. i don't feel happy, but i am beautifully sad, and content with it forget the winter to come or the scalding, over-peopled summer, here now is the harvest.
