now in autumn again i walk the sunny paths
of the place where they healed me in summer.
warm fingers of light,
trees and pond –
they play the organ a different place.
our disease is a colorful one. she’s merry,
she’s bright, she lives on the fringes, she lives
in the fingers of green reaching out from our city.
but lately she’s come in, drawn closer to our
markets and parties and gatherings halls and
now traders trade pictures of windings, merry and bright.