autumn melts the skies
her oranges like
bright rouge,
her yellows a
half hidden sun.

the fires of a waking
world, blown by
the branches of the
wind,

forgotten, an
ending sweeter
than the last
fragments of day
that dream as they
fall, caught by the
torn breezes that
scatter the leaves
westward and skyward
like little ribbons hurrying
along a once summer path.

This fragile heart
sometimes bursts into
the tiniest shards
                  of infinity
clear as crystal light
yet empty
as an ocean, waterless
longing
to be filled and filled
over and over
as I would fill you
to the brim
overflowing with
enough life
and love to heal
a thousand
                aching moons