Once the Frost Is Gone

The colors gold red and brown riding the wings of some forgotten memory that glisten off the morning dew mirroring the reflection of what was as leaves cover your sorrow upon the empty ground that seems to imitate familiar cycles swirling in the autumn breeze to only be locked in winters chains freezing and stiffening the delicate colors you crush beneath your feet as accidental as the role of the dice mixed with the familiar smells of autumn weaving Its bliss between your fingers impossible possibilities become you fiery fumes expunge your desires upon a world dying in cold to only reawaken once the frost is gone