September rain not really falling,
but has fallen. Clouds mess 

with her chance to witness
another civil 

twilight. But a western gleam
signals another shift. And 

she wishes she could find the hidden white
pine forest, tucked into it 

creek, where she would be safe to write
his name in the needle bed
dirt without 

getting found out.
But branches get so heavy 

this time of year. Hotter 

and hotter, later till
that moment when it gets very cool.