Those are narrow, steep stone steps
that lead up to short crusted walls
and gritted grounds of sand  

Overlook the expanse of the lake
the willow trees, the autumn colours
Isolation, as you must learn, comes in
red and dust and wilted golden

when the wind blows
and the leaves rustle,
it is an echoing emptiness

the snow-frosted flower blossoms  
but walk past the fragile elegance
and hear it; listen to the soft sigh
quaver in the cold