Pale petals fall
on this autumn day,
curl oblong & blank,
stare at the sky
like feline Asian eyes.

Trails of mist
spray over the soil,
vacant tendrils reach
for the light.

Gradually, the sun coats
the fence with pastel
shadows. Fits of
breeze strike
chairs turned to dusk.

In calamity we find our limits.
Each day we try to wash the same spots.
Over there where the leaves fall
the tree grieves in the quiet.

After the windows are closed,
the heavy trowel put away,
the deer again dodge incoming.
The bus stop & the streetlights enjoy the fog.