The brisk wind is frozen
In silver fog the dried leaves snapping
Beneath the traveler’s feet
The smoky residue of a long forgotten campfire fills the Emptiness.

Feel the air, thick and pregnant with regret; but
Thin and waning in the sun’s respite
Amber and tawny leaves being shot off the trees by Fall’s
Lethal arrow

If only the tide had been slower… the moon more aware of its treachery…

Musty and tangled, dusty and remorseful
The horse’s mane gently entwined between my fingers
The burgundy rust is crumbling of the Farmer’s tractor
The lost memoir of his fruitless endeavors

And now only the cypress stands by to remember

The wolf, his fur shining platinum, howls his tribute to his Master Moon
Even he can hear the crooning of the wind
Ancient as memory


The cinnamon and spice common to these times
Why do they taunt me
His memory is in their presence, sweet and gentle
Even able to break me

And my Solitude

The clear lakes, murky with distrust and bitter disdain
Echo back a reflection that is too covered in tears to make out
And the ripples on the water sing to me, melodious and
Forgetful of their tragic doing

Forgetful of their tragic doing

The bright oranges, vivid and shocking
The light pinks, supple and forgiving
All blend in the Fall
And the white bark shadowed with black gently peels itself from the tree’s tender

Embrace and I wish I had one myself

Sometimes I even hear His breathing
Slow and rhythmic, each gasp for air measured and poetic
Because everything Wild and Free breathes with me
Everything pulses with the vibration of anticipation for the cold

Everything Lives In the Fall

It’s times like these when I look up into the heavens
And search with the keen hunter’s eye
For my first and last lover
And there he is, forever followed by the scorpion

Only on clear fall nights do I search and long for my dear Orion