Morning clouds burning off like
Smoldering embers. Leaves
Dropping like twisted scarves,
Bark on archaic trees
Thick with a breeze. Graying
Mist paints over a pond
Gilled with perch and trout.
An early frost scrolls a
Shoreline of duckweed water
With spirals of ice-crystals.
In a dell rung by the ground
Cold, the withering of flowers;
Old roots searching for a warmth
Burrow into the dry salvages
Of earth. Down boles of the elm.
And while the air was stirring, the
Hourglass of Autumn sifted a drift
Of winter. Flakes falling from a tin sky.
And the wind began to howl. The
Distant sound rote in the cold mouth;
And the heaving snow rounded
The hollow, cowering pond and the
Littered branches. And Autumn bailing in a
Boat. Silent listening to the undeniable.
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