Might I be the first to allow, with
cold drawing near and burnished
autumn in revolt against vivid-scorched
months, all crisp words and bare
arms,
           reflection on these nineteen
years is done with great anticipation, for
purpose and love and vision and dreams, the
foundations envelop my years, stamp
me with 35 cents and a kiss for luck, good
heavens
                  I'm on my way.