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| photo by Edward Rinaldi |
Autumn
is a digestible velvet-beauty
she peers into every observable death
she is always waiting for it
what is your scent, she asks
will you frame your dreams of me
what of my raptures, will you peel
them open
will you sleep tuck me away inside
your loamy seams
I am mist and decay, she says stirring
into sound
I am what sweeps through the trees,
after midnight
I am the sweetest dark before the tilt
of October
I am who cries herself to sleep
I am who bleeds in whispers
I am what sugar coats the long knives
of Winter
