Autumn in Portage

You told me autumn in Michigan is revealing hidden behind yards of transgeographic distance watching out leaves muddled on pavements like last season’s motifs jotted in a diary kept away from others, you must have touched your hair lingering around lobes, those cracked lips wanting more than this feast of yellow and russet, the Red oak spilling wine and the Aspen grieving over getting yellowed birches standing like seasoned saints absorbing frosting egos, this witchcraft of visuals, out of the car’s window made the most of the sight, clicking images for a foreign hand to touch your autumn, not you wrapped in warmers.

by Rizwan Akhtar

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