Crisp wind tugs at tenacious anchors;
The dregs of chlorophyll
Faded to golds, reds, and rust.

They cling with anticipation;
A fated, final dance
Teases on the flutter,
Waxes, wanes.

Piles of the exhausted
Stir in death’s slumber,
Their applause hushed
By their climactic conclusions.

Soon I will gather
The delicate cadavers
For burial,
But for now, I recline -
Suffused in the earthen tones
Of their scent receding.

11/15/2011

Author's Note: It's sooooo beautiful.

Posted on 11/15/2011
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