It seems I can never catch up.
The seasons are late, and mess
My inner timing, somehow
Connected to me from birth.
So I am late in the fall,
My favorite month because
It is not crisp, clear, revealing.
It does not sing in my soul.
I am lost in summer dreaming.
My inner clock is stumped.
It is all wrong to smell dead things
When it is warm and gentle.
All wrong, I am late once again.
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