Autumnal Woe
The bleak sky
begins its heavenly cry
as loose leaves burrow
in the marsh.
Pour another cup,
fill it with my lust for
choosing rain.
Sunken branches sway,
the wind breaks their trust.
The longing for despair,
the longing for disdain.
Promise me, a fool,
a tool in your game,
that your falling ivy
won’t bury me with dust.
Cradle me with fear,
cradle me with touch.
The chore of keeping
our core together through the pain
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