to be a branch full of yellow and russet leaves in the sun
fuel for the warming flames before
winter’s long dark chill
when the sky is made of sapphire and gold
inside I am already on fire
I inhale crisp dry air and breath out smoke
I am melting in this month’s mouth
and will mourn when it is gone
in winter the sun hides behind the blue snow hill
rises weakly into icy branches
the sickly smell of gasoline exhaust
as tires slush along the roads and through the parking lots
before it sinks again behind the horizon
when the darkest day comes
I won’t long for summer
I desire the one light stand of November
on a bed of gilded leaves
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