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Mike Montreuil

September

The sun begins its descent towards evening. Yet, it's still hot outside with a still hotter south wind. We are near the end of September, I say to myself, while marveling at the green trees. Everything has slowed down. Even my daily walk is as slow as it was during the dog-days. Perhaps it is the heat. Perhaps it is the illness in my heart.

school day evening—
the empty soccer fields

My dear, you have entered my thoughts. Even if it's 90 outside, I can see you there in your red robe, your left thigh showing and teasing me. Yes, I am imagining the silk one. Funny, I don't even know what it looks like, and what's worse is that it's not winter and you won't wear it when it is warm in your apartment. Yes, my mind wanders. It does that sometimes. Maybe it's heat. Maybe it's the illness that runs through my veins.

fall sunset—
the outside light turned on
for a loved one.