Bodies So Used to the Sun

Fall, today, hangs on to the edges of things:

a breeze, and the few leaves that have begun to catch fire—
birds gathering up their armies, ready to journey south.
a kind of stillness hangs in the air.

it is an in between time, half of something
that wants for another: warmth receding from the cold;
green begging at the leaves; windows left open
but sweaters cradling bodies so used to the sun.