hanging by a drying stem
last day's wind worn remanent falters
no more sweetness or shared strength
countless others gone first without alter
fall's dull bodies, come light on grass patch
stiff, with apparent veins and discolors
rattle to ground to sound a hollow scratch
across an empty cul de sac of lost honors
from kind, distant branches, hush
evening swings a frosty chill
to gloaming trills of wood thrush
winter songs of wounded will
-cec