Robin Chapman posts a poem, most days, from fellow poets with one of her watercolors.
Within the great blue bowl,
I walk, mixing October
with wind in my hair,
light sifting chrysanthemum flower,
black birds like raisins
tossed in the dough,
this day of leaf and leaven.
Some say bread's the staff of life,
but I hold to sun and air.
These last few days before the dark,
I claim what soon will be lost,
kneading the sun, kneading the air,
I bake within my skin
summer's memory, frangible gold.
-originally published in Wisconsin Poets Calendar