Bullace
hedge haematoma
blue-black against the fading,
once young green,
bruising for sharp winter thoughts,
clean frost lines,
untouched snow-blank focus

but before, to swell and drop
in the last pale suns,
feed the field mouse, rabbit
and endure the muds

Autumn came before me,
And she asked:
"When all my leaves change,
And burrows are dug,
When your sweaters are worn,
And you fall in love,
Please protect my golden boy,
Stare into his hazel eyes,
Run your hands through his straw spun hair,
And hold him close until sunrise."
You were born of Autumn.
And Autumn loved you so.
She put you in my arms,
And asked me to never let you go.
I'll honor her wishes,
I will keep you close.
Your heart is made of gold,
And I'll love you the most.
So when Autumn comes,
Once again,
I'll tell her that
I was your friend.

I move through the woods in ritual
The trees have shed their leaves like
Third sons and eldest daughters,
They cling bravely until the wind uncurls their hands
and bears them away from home.  
A scavenger, I search them out, hold them between finger and thumb,
Their last embrace.

Sometimes I will pluck a fading life from a branch,
melded amber and crimson,
the dregs of sun in their veins,
offered in the last vibrance of summer’s heat.
At home, I press them between pages,
tiny spells of weight and gravity
cast to keep their color.
I know this magic,
Autumn and I are kindred in this,
Our eyes are the same soft green and sepia of hiraeth
cradles of remembrance,
nets always cast back into memory.
Like all memories
There are a thousand useless,
The umber of old blood, trodden underfoot,
the seconds that dripped by unmarked.
But we hold the fragile, happy few,
High upon a shelf
the glowing phosphorus of laughter
The currant red of a last kiss
Returned to and returned to
Like an unanswered prayer.

As leaves fall more
in
the wind
and
no longer watered
hanging baskets
become
leftover
summer caskets
you're still here:

you, with your never-ending arc of abundance;

making every season,

making every year.

Pains me
pretty leaves
regrettable memories
wilted golden pathways
lost love
Lovers on the Rhum
childhood dreams
evil little teddy bears
ghosts chase me
night after deadly night
to eternity

a branch with no tree
leaves fall


one by one
you all left me
no answers not even a song

I hug the silence of a cold winter

that orange smiled

from the open hands
of the trees

it danced
and rejoiced
when it saw the good - there -

the ghost, from this past rain
began to wallow
and whisper to me

look at
look at
look at
how happy this all is

it had stopped now
- of course - what was new
of something meant to pass, but I didn’t worry,
it was all okay

I looked at the sky, that

orange,
and I said to myself

look at how happy this all is

Meet me in
the morrow
lands as light
entwines and
weaves,
we’ll watch the
bronze sceptre
of the trees.

Take my hand
through autumn;
waltz amongst
the falling
leaves,
dance with me
a while up-
-on the breeze.

Count with me
the steps as
we, dance our
whole lives through …

“One - two - three
Two - two - three
Three - two - three”

  … and I’ll fall,
in love with
        you.

I see you glancing at the brush,
But our bristles don't hold paint the way they used to
And for all the folly in our atmosphere, I am sorry
I know I'm the one who exhaled the most

Remember, your father told you,
"We run the most standing still,"
But my stars have remained perpetually frozen
Since my love ceased blushing your alabaster skin

If you cinch the tourniquet too tightly,
To summer's dismay, I may not heal by autumn
And whether you whisper treasons of the universe or not,
My anchor's still aweigh by first light

Broken words taste bitter upon my tongue,
And it's becoming clearer and clearer
That you were my road to Arcadia
But, as I am prone to do, I derailed us both

I see you glancing at the brush,
But our bristles don't hold paint the way they used to
And for this achromatic atmosphere, I am sorry
I know I'm the one in black and white