this morning

Fallen fruit crunches beneath my feet
on the concrete path as I trot, half
hopping along, to avoid brushing branches
that sop with old leaves which are ready to drop.
Sullen and soft, as waxy and limp as old beaten cloth.
A cluster of soil from a broken pot is spilled
in the car park and not brushed up. The trunk
of a sunflower lies rotting on top.

It's autumn. For the last few days
I've been coughing a lot, feeling the air changing.
Today when I wake I feel vital and fresh,
and my lungs have cleared up. Everything's cooled
by several degrees and it's woken me up.
It's my birthday today. And the city glistens
with dew and smells of the sea.
I button my coat and walk through the gate
into my thirties.