
The chill is here.
The sky never
bluer.
The colors turn,
with leaves ever
fewer.
Until a last
hanger-on yields
to a weak breeze.

The chill is here.
The sky never
bluer.
The colors turn,
with leaves ever
fewer.
Until a last
hanger-on yields
to a weak breeze.

breeze-twisted leaves
catch the sunlight of an
Autumn afternoon.

each passing day
more yellow carpets the ground,
more blue shows through.




Autumn leaves
flip and flutter
onto clear water.

The space between
this & that,
us & them,
then & now,
now & later.
The pregnant pause —
a pause without cause —
Just senseless nothing
in between.

wet yellow leaves
stick to the sidewalk
after Autumn rain.

Spring rains stalk up
behind a bald mountain;
a brown flood flows.


