it is always in october that i

feel it the most.

the tugging on my nerves

to tell me that there should be a breeze,

or when my neck gently reminds me

to bundle up.

and this day, on the last of october,

i feel it strongest.

my bones grew strong with east coast iron,

and know nothing of the search for gold

or red dirt clay.

my bone knows how to walk quickly,

my bones only know how to walk quickly,

stopping only for traffic or the sudden gaze

on a red maple.

i must look upon the face of new york again,

i must drink in the atlantic grey soon.