What Was. . .
Hours fall silent in Autumn’s dappled shade
Swallowed in fiery grandeur.
Illusion of beauty
Laid waste by crackling footfall.
Wind torn branches
Their cold black fingers
Silhouetted against the potential dawn
Where murderous flocks huddle
Waiting for light,
Both are gone.
Good evening! Today is about the terrible habit of looking behind, and being tethered to memory… and I also think I might have a hankering for fall.
Lie in Weight
Now the days of yielding past
And fallow fields in quiet repose
Beckon down dark geese in flight
The crackle of air settling cold
The dusty birth of Autumn spreads
Waits for coy light to brave horizon.
I am still and lingering.
Patient like the fading light
The callous bite of snows to come
And the bitter taste of wood smoke in lungs
I remember the hush frosted grass beneath feet
Like your breath on the apple of my cheek
Clear as the fading day and vibrant as fog on the moor
How I long to miss the memory
When will it burrow beneath ground
Settle somewhere in the dirt where you hide
For my dawdling to cease.