As summer dies
and new lives arise,
  he sits on a swing in sea of sand
alone.

slowly swaying to and fro
the grace of a naked tree limb
in Fall’s gentle breeze
pondering truths and “what ifs,”

Carefully with a course hand,
he crushes a dry red rose,
and as the crimson flakes of ash
crumble and slip through his fingers
it all becomes clear.

Through the clouds’ whispers,
he stares up in to the pale moonlight
and discovers how to smile again.