Russet and Rust In October
Damp campfires burn mouse bones,
their sooty ghosts
flavor the tattered.
The trees that don't turn,
stay hung on a scaffold
drab and dreaming.
Grey ribbons hang
from pall-bearing branches.
Smoky hollows wallow,
leafage languor’s in the smolder,
colors run in the reek.
The earth hugs its litter,
pulls it under to chew on itself.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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