when late October
feels like it might stay forever;
when sunlight itself
is enchanted by
the unplumbed color of the season
and seems
to want to hang from trees
like crystal chandeliers,
stretched and slowed
by the fairy tale
of coming cold
til it lingers
a little too long
in midair—
like Cinderella did
in the opulent glare
of such an otherworldly ball—
with no ride home
planned, and
for no reason at all.
