diecast leaves sheer off

their windblown sounds,

from the concreted spans

of their cycle.

as trees roughen their

sketches for night-callers

come unexpectedly earlier

by the day.

the seductive tips of their knives

flirting with menace, who turn

on a dime to the puncture wounds

of stars.

a globular aftermath for the moon

to split her shell in.