Fall, 2015

It feels as though time’s grasp is
breaking. I see blood-
colored berries clinging fast
to thin brown twigs etched
against the sky, bone-white
arms of birches angled
upward, juiceless
leaves skittering over the
ground like scarabs from some
pharaoh’s open tomb; a
sudden smell of wood-smoke.

2 Replies to “Fall, 2015”

  1. Lovely poem – I really felt I could see, feel and finally smell everything.

    One little note: juiceless is one word.


    450 776 4563 (Cell)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Marilyn, That’s so great that you got that out of it. Like Mark said last week, a poem should communicate with its reader; otherwise, what’s the point of it. So, yay!


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