untitled poem

it is autumn

I dream

the tree has turned

to words

the smell of apples

rotting in the grass

drifts up to me

as rhyme

heard once

in another field

before my eyes

the world turns

red

turns

gold

the sun is

getting in

the next to last word

of the dream

Jim Bishop of Bangor has taught at the University of Maine in Orono for many years and also served as associate director for Franco-American studies. This poem is from his book “Mother Tongue” and is recorded on his CD “Jim Bishop Reads.”