Leaves toppling from trees fiery
leaves red yellow green flames.
Only this remains...smoky ends of days.
Days like leaves crumbling, shriveled,
tumbling down, falling to the ground.
Scattered into an acrid mound.
An acrid mound of sour roots. Our garden
grew from the wrong side of the moon.
Brackish vines are harvested there.
Flowers of despair grew a single fruit.
It tasted bittersweet. My laughter became
harsh. My eyes grew oblique.
I want to curse and cry against this world.
Fine dreams stolen...ragged and torn
like leaves blown in storm.
Storm winds strangle treetops, shaking,
foliage pulled from boughs. Broken
by thunder pummeled through long nights
Long nights heavy rains spilling black ink
stains. There is no solution, another day
done, another piece of the puzzle gone
Ashes ashes all fall down
what is lost cannot be found.