Arched passageway of vaulted
ancient arms splashed with yellow,
orange, red, green, fawn, black.
Gold leaf drops to the ground and
heaps in crannies,
pungent with earth,
portending of the coming white death.
The approaching darkness not sadness
but icy isolation and
crystalline beauty -- fragile and elusive.

Thus, in desperation and smitten with a lovehate for fall, I write the poetry I hate to produce a September post.


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