Four days

On the first
Pitch wolves cried out
Running away from the unruly threats

On the second
Demons left
Their human attachments behind

The thirds shade
Fell behind the tavern door
Systematically infusing its own atoms

With the roughened ale stained planks

On the fourth sun
Loved ones crumbled
The bell tolled eight

Every twin died

That's when the moon
Resplendent in the fade of sorrow
Quaked its mourn

The sun beats
Chloroplasts frolick
Greedy alcoholics

Addicted
To the root stretch feel
Of growth

As neurons
Are ever attentive
Picking up new signs

Surveying others
Gentle kisses
Pressed from the lips of fall

Not a warning
More of a promise
Of a soon to return chill

So there I sat
Watching the mat
Unravel and ravel itself

Confident in its weathered fibers
More stains
Than the weary could carry

Chills seeping out
From once passed
Winters marching in solidarity

Deep ruts of snow
Lovingly folding in on each other
While flurries fly

With a child brew mischief
Autumn swarays
Prancing ablaze

While the ladies abroad
Exhale their feathered haze
The gents down low

Noses alight with a healthy glow
When all has been honed
Only then will it show