Grace of skies,
wind blown high,
fine figured, soft and fair
tease the wondrous yellow hair
of autumn

Faded linen
which smells of straw,
and a shift of corn
in the back of a drawer,
is all that is left
of the girl next door,
she stayed a while
from June to September,
and left fresh berries
to help us remember

Shadows of summer
Leave a mark upon my heart
As they grow longer

Take a glass of August, to sip at harvest time
a vessel overflowing, with a stem of wilting vines
the final press and corking up of summers cheapest wine,
too sweet, too ripe, too seasoned, with the changing year’s decay,
overblown and blousy with the taste of yesterday

Faint breath flutters the curtains
in the pale green room named spring, we wait
certain that it will be tonight
still he hangs, a torn fingernail
catching sharp on the threads of the season
each wheeze falters, weaker than the last
he rallies and falls,
each stuttering fail
leaves us poised and frozen
still as rabbits on open ground
waiting, waiting waiting
for the sweet and silent sound
of winter’s passing

It’s a chasm of nothingness
A gaping void that doubles in on itself
Like how I imagine a black hole would
I’m in it and I am it
Can’t see into it or out of it
It makes me heavy like a wet towel
Thick and slow like dripping tarmac
It is pain and it is anaesthesia
Feeling nothing and everything
Dragging myself through days and weeks
With proverbial broken ankles
Stumbling into potholes and falling
Flat on my face
Over and over again
Till the sun comes back

Autumn leaves blow random wild
a Harlequin in scarlet cloak
spring and summer's fated child
he dances freely with the breeze
and does not seem to know or care
that harsher colder winter winds
will one day strip him bare