Leaves toppling from trees fiery autumn
leaves red yellow green flames. Only this
remains...smoky ends of days.
Days like leaves crumbling, shriveled,
tumbling down, falling to the ground.
Scattered, gathered into an acrid mound.
An acrid mound of sour roots. My garden
was seeded from the wrong side of the moon.
Brackish vines and ruin were harvested there.
Flowers of despair gave off a single fruit.
It tasted bittersweet. My laughter became
harsh. My eyes grew oblique.
I want to curse and cry against this world.
My fine dreams stolen...ragged and torn
like leaves blown in storm.
Storm winds strangle treetops, shaking,
crackling foliage pulled from boughs. Broken
open by clouds pushed through long nights
Long nights heavy with rains spilling black ink
stains. I have found no solution, another day
done another piece of the puzzle gone
Ashes ashes all fall down what is lost can not
be found. Without compass, without guide
icy frost hardens the way painting trails ashen cold.
Cold crystal, nebula and mist drift wandering
voiceless through mountains of morning. Dressed
in shadows, we join dusty messengers of dawn.
