leaves are a fallen fruit
the grounds gaping mouth swallows them hole
Turning the earth with its tongue
leaves crinkle and crack
like bubble wrap
on an early morning.
crisp air holds the fogs hand as it creeps through the woods
quiet
blanketing the earth
they break apart
with a melodically crisp crunch
Bits of red and yellow confetti
In your hair, eyelashes.


falling
       at your feet.