A slate
Chipped
Missing half an edge

Gorged
Strikes
Careening

Down its scarred surface
Strikes scored into the face

Fives

Tens

The chalk caves into my fingertips

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