Mark Fraser: Day Two Hundred and Fifty – Autumn Tilde

Posted on September 7, 2011 by


I like this one a lot. Going for more concrete imagery.


I sat watching the sun fall
behind the parapets on University Avenue
for the last time this season,
when rain came to chase it away.
Night began to fall earlier than usual,
washing in the beginning of autumn and
rinsing the warmth from the air.

Dusk turned to silver dust,
the sun had hardened, turned to stone,
swung outward like a wrecking ball
slightly further into cold space.
The air cooled, causing a chill
for this first time this side of
summer; a hint at what lies in store
for the rest of the year.

I could see my breath,
exhaling the warm ghost
of summer that filled my lungs
mere moments before.

The night sky collapsed in on itself
as if the sun had become a failed star,
warping from navy blue to gun metal gray.
A crescent moon like a half closed eye
winked, disappearing behind the clouds
as if it had been caught out
whilst committing this dirty deed
letting us know that the summer is gone:
It never lasts too long.

Posted in: Mark Fraser