tracing hands on a bench

        hold out your finger, I'll
    circle it in burnished gold

Mosséd trees stand in respect,
a moment of silence.
Still breathing
but stillness dwells.
In amongst the green
a catharsis of orangey-red shades.
The Japanese maple poised,
chest puffed,
arms elegant.
Sight unstirred.

Trying to find home.
Come with me.
No one has to know.
There's nothing in my hands.
I'm running out of plans.
Without you.
Without a clue.