The leaves cling to the ground
With the first autumn rain
Skins slick with wet
As if churned from a summer’s sweat,
The rubbing of limbs
The moan of pressing trunks
The expired sigh of each breeze,
All lost in this afterglow
Of changing seasons
And the expected chill
That makes limbs shudder
And press even deeper
To retain bits of warmth
And keep it all from oozing out
Winter being such a long
And exasperating time
That makes us cling
All the closer but without
The rage of heat,
we rubbing together
like stick against stone
expecting no burst of flame
but a slow and steady smoldering
we hope will keep us warm
until spring springs upon us again,
bringing back summer’s bliss.
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