Late October and the fat furry bee
wanders in the tangle of beach vine and
star flower and lingers at each purple
blossom for a last taste of vanishing summer.
She knows nothing of calendars, nor of her part
in next year’s blooming, but the season
urges her toward the sweet nectar, as she
fills herself, to return, laden, to the hive

The lush green cliff is already draped
a gauzy shawl of gold, rust and brown
The still water is suddenly alive with dark
shadows from below –moving fish scatter
across the silver surface with the elegance
of a swift swath of paint. Daylight softens
and low, pink cirrus clouds move towards
the far horizon in a graceful slow dance

The world’s beauty sometimes seems
pure impulse – a moment –
when the air moves a branch
and a shower of golden leaves
fills the blue sky
or when – mysteriously,
as if remembering spring,
a darkening autumn evening
is aflame with a thousand fireflies.

Dorothy Cantwell spends her time between NYC, where she lives, and the North Shore of Eastern Long Island. Her work has been published in The Long Island Literary Journal, Brownstone Poets Anthology, Constellate Literary Journal, Flash Boulevard, Assisi, River and South Review, Angel City Review, The Wild Word and Poetrybay.