FALL

Is

The autumn of attachment is
Passion wilting, cleaving halves
Mellow, softening,
Orange glow of canopy’s underside

Us

A carpet of convergences,
Woven of rough and plush,
Twin sides of domesticity
Our mushroom underworld of connection

As A Circle

Line - deceptive end is fraying
The journey now borne round,
A pregnant decomposition
Of Fibonacci’s serial fate

Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.

Homestead

Soaking grey
Is punishing the land

Where once the house stood for a dream,
A shallow breath away from our fingertips
The path, never to be shared,
Slipped sand in the hourglass,
Unaccounted
The lavenders are long gone,
Would have been too woody anyway

The sage cottage, nameless anymore,
The last stall before the chance lot was cast

Home is where the heart is,
A broken shaft of sunshine