When the arc of the night wanes
You descended with it
Came down with a generic name
That tells of you or anyone
It was as though
You were the sweet dusk of fall
Saturated browns and faded greens
With a piercing cold here
Or there
Your leaves whipped upwards
To a lukewarm sun
Scratched skins and tree trunks
And I couldn't tell if I
Welcomed you or not
Or anyone
The crumpled and second-hand colors
And the lonely curbsides
Could not deter your coming
Nor skip you altogether
To hibernation, to snow blankets
And wintry silence.
You, who carry a punishing presence
With the chill of the season and
The sickle and
The last of the wilting fruits,
Were inescapable.
**
Thursday, February 7, 2013
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