I sit quietly, waiting on our bench
Sighs in my head form the words I can't write
My paper is blowing, my fingers clenched
Both stand apart, refusing to unite
Cool breezes in the air seduce my spine;
Soft inspiration for the perfect prose
Their enticement fails to a soul supine,
And my emotional door remains closed
Ocean bound palm trees seem out of season
Their green leaves intoxicate me sober
Numbing me to the infinite reasons
I am missing the fall of October
Trees lower their branches, I shade my eyes
From the allusive poem in my sighs
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