Placed above the meadows in a brushstroke
Caught with sloping certainty
of yellow morning.
marshall fading incursions
in to cold air,
gently curling ice cream twirling
suggestions of matter.
The soft grey floor of blue night comforts this thin facade
of slanting rays
spins toward the source.
A late summer malaise
Illuminating long evening shadow rays.
Battered butter flies flap
desperate faded papery muddles
Threshed by the fresh force
giving voice to the leaves’ last days
Trees roaring like the ocean
Beating in the new tide
My youth was spent shoring up holes
around my soul.
In these early days of autumn,
mists obscure the fear
creeping through the walls of green.
Sun made leaves
As if the sky could fall away
I would have preferred Truman’s dome
Blame Copernicus for this hell
Exposed to the heavens.
I spend my adult life taking down the wall,
packing it away again.
Pipping through the moon
to the light from the outside.
Consuming the shell to nourish my bones.
To become what I already am.
A semi senescent beech leaf flaps
cross the half mown round lawn
like an old fashioned flip clock
Steady warm wind impelling
Fresh blood beads
Bleeds from hawthorn grazed greens
silent summer feathers tumbling towards
The last months of the year
Only for them to snag
On spider spun filaments of september sun