Sestina-September City Streets

The September moon and the fog
More romance than the Midwestern streets
Should have. Hung about the trees
And the mist, like upside-down tears
As we walked Under the lamposts
Trying to stay in soft dimness

I want to linger through dimness
Extending the protection of the fog
Dog does not care about lampposts
That line the ruler-straight streets
And soon we pass by. Tears
Falling to further water oak Trees

They hover over me, the trees
They are the authors of dimness
They do not care for tears.
The boon of the September fog
Is enchanting the serious city streets
Finally giving due beauty to lamposts

The city people wanted the lampposts
As unnatural as the Midwestern trees
They were made for this fog
Creeping in on clouds of autumn
Which should not be here. Dimness
Meant for southern, not Midwestern tears

My eyes are traitors. Their tears
Soften the night often, keeping lampposts
Constantly wreathed in soft Southern fog
My elderly friends, the unnatural trees
Keep me sheltered, memories in dimness
Geography hardly matters, with dark streets

No pity is allowed. On streets
In the Midwest. They know tears
Are not noticed. Hidden by dimness
Or not. The people wanted lampposts
Just as they wanted unnatural trees
For the September moon and fog

Even in the Midwest, the dimness of streets is to be desired
Fog like upside down tears, Can rise to hide your own.
Trees and lampposts know. You can cry anywhere.

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About sherryparsons

Freelance writer, mom, fond of dogs and small children, Southern girl, Lincolnite, sometime brunette, voracious reader.
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