the colder air has begun breaking

open the patternized flights of birds

like stones.

against what?

above a land of leaves in toppling

rotations--skirting along the second

wind of ground, how the breathless

rises.

that which stares at the sky intently

enough to trade places, with all

it's burried--knows what it takes for

snow to fall.

if there's an exactness to a moment, prior

to its occasion, that can be seen beforehand--

fitting perfectly into a long time come now.

it's here, chilling fingertips that reach for

warmth, or opt for exposure.