the clouds drift
like silver rivers,
the rain trickles-
crushed petals of silk.
the little valleys of
sky ruffle like leaves.
the autumn is a
diamond sky-
crisp and cold.

white as a sheet the day’s
ghosts fade like an
old photograph.
the rivers of the day
tremble and drown
with the rain that
falls and falls.
i am a mosaic,
a floor made of
tiles, ashen with
autumn reds.

They die  
I leave a ruined edge
They leave with someone else
Tectonic plates mismatched
grate life on time's most vicious rasp
Some people never find their mates
left anonymous to pages
The empty internet
all their beauty fed to air

watching others celebrate
their joys their moments

I struggle on
Alone

the autumn broods,
moody, full of leaf.
the sky sinks like
a silver ghost,
drinks its pools of
frost, its moments
full of dream.

My heart has always been skeptical,
and sometimes I think that it's waiting.
waiting to go back to being hollow,
like that old church in Vienna,
after mass on a rainy day in October.

I stood outside in the garden:
extracted my rib,
ground it down on that stone,
shaping it into a knife
so that I could dig a small hole
to bury my treasonous heart.

You emerged into that dark wood,
and we found a path together
through moonlit streets and storms
until we came upon a tavern-
your laughter sloshing like
warm bourbon falling into a glass.

I'd watch you when you lost your self,
and I could see the fire burning in you
warming me, and in those lost moments
I didn't care at all that I might get burnt.