crisp autumn air, whispers bear
hill crests only we know where leaves are so
amber and the sky is so golden.
autumn leaves, they
fall to the pine-bathed
soil, and my heart falls
with them, and I think it's burning
too, burning too, for all it takes
is one glance into your
amber eyes, september sight, and
I lay them in a mandala, the shards of glass
I pull from my back, one by one. I let them
scar over, and I surround the mandala
in peonies, because the pain was not for nothing
and now that I can watch it from afar, my
Amber leaves cling
To umber trees reaching
Frayed roots deep into the ground.
They've told you time
And time again, "autumn is the season
Of the dead.
Green leaves rusting, flowers
“Men are dogs,” I say to my friend as she kneels at the foot of her bed, like a child waiting for her mother’s strong arms. Yet, I am her friend tonight, so my scrawny arms make a cheap cradle.
This is what I know to be undeniably true,
1. No matter how much I wait or how much help I receive I still have to save myself.
2. Nobody will ever truly know me as well as I do.
In the prior Autumn, the air smelled of leaf carcasses
and her abundant unused potential.
In efforts to cope she wrote of downpours,
breakup boots, and predicted wasted experiences.
There’s a story to tell,
one of dragons and queens.
A story that’s as alluring as a bell —
in the dead of night, when all is not what it seems.
When the stars align, showing the way of the Earth,
Autumn leaves flutter around my head,
The color popping in the chilly,
The veins stretch out,
Delicate within the leaves.