Autumn

In stealth, along the avenue 
autumn brought out robes of bright decay 
above the showy salmon roses – hanging on – 
masking paths baked-dry in summer certainties; 

As sunlight mustered waning strength, against an easterly 

We braced, heads-up from time to time 
to watch the failing harvesters of light 
curl into their tracery of death, passing 
as October paled toward November; 

Which drips and soaks and floods and howls in threat 

The construct of a year stripped bare, to bones 
no longer pandering to life’s desires; 
its coat of gold has worn threadbare and gone, 
strewn russet on the ground; 

Now – darkening grey and coming – winter stalks …