When I flitted with the fall
I could feel the cool imprint of fingers,
The pounding of veins, Adam's fright,
Twisted, in the effulgence of the night.

My axis span by this faint touch of hand
And I dreamt of some respite
In spring's ethereal step
To blink beyond this cusp of night.

I fled; too fast to grasp — that I was broken,
For ash cities and burnt leaves,
Cool waves and barren trees.
This — a token, to the months I left unspoken.