the tentative taste of fall
was swelling sitting upon my taste buds.
the sepia sounds of buried intentions
fell helplessly decaying into the earth like
the desolate leaves on trees who
dread departing from their
faithful facetious friends.
autumns auspicious aim was that I harvest
all the bitter lessons I planted springtime;
the same ones that blossomed that
her air carried the unspecific morose
memories that hid in pinecones.
I was not ready for the somber silence
that the sharp winter had
unlike the grievous
geese that fled the winter,
we endured the viciousness of her
black and white.