by

when i was writing of tinged rust

2007/10/22 in narratives

leaves folding in the tumble down headfirst, over again, fall in flight a flight to the ground. aground, not awash, not a sound. but silent as the water keeps, what only the water deep. can as it may, can as it lay. in to the dark night, dark time, the cold rising. chill a dew, not new, but old, from years past. in the bones. in so deep. the memories return, as memory sleeps. and i will fold this time, in to a pocket, in to a sleep.

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1 response to when i was writing of tinged rust

  1. Francis Scudellari said on 2007/10/25


    I found your site through BlogRush, and am happy I did. I love your work, especially this poem. Fall has always been my favorite season, and you’ve captured the mood of it perfectly.