autumn is our season    nirvana in bloom    that

is to say we blossom times six when rust sets in    our

bark too used to things falling      intimately familiar

with leaves leaving    gone with the rush of the

wind   too accustomed to the blues     to the sun hiding behind

hues   to the strain of seeing in the dark    we are but

hunks of wood    children of love going limb   leftover

smoke  wine colored roses   orange seeds for the birds

inside our chests    sweet song each new

year i’d wither in your smile   smiling from the inside out.