apple wind

 i chose to not brand
the  movement
does this make me a hippie?

murphy's oil soap for hardwood floors
cleans   pet hairs. the dog is mellow
cats well fed. rise from bed, outdoors
lake breeze and cafe bustello.

rimbaud in reverse, poet's curse/
poet's pleasure in the measure
eight by  eight awaits. which is worse
to not hold or to not treasure?

hidden by reeds a boathouse stares
  at the backyard, blinks as shadows
and cypress sigh. the gate swings, shares
exit with entry , i suppose

i  could stand on the dock as  moors
creep , geese flock wild and  yellow
in the sun's gleam between shores,
wait for this or that fine fellow.

the apple wind blows fit to burst
 a careful bubble, takes pleasure
 dropping fruit on heads, an alert
  all seasons aren't for leisure.

gather,harvest, breathe  fresh air
shake out the sheets, mend holey ghosts
that creep into your house,   aware
of autumn's promise to the host.