humid and silent and broken air that passes your eyes and shatters, reaching death as the nights get longer,
ghostly presence in every hole of a rotten leaf and of words in a sentence which can't be held together, freezing when the trees naked stand
apples and ginger and honey and scratching at the back of the throat and tears and wonder, inside my mouth when harvest comes
reaping, from puddle to puddle to crisp to sharp and red, the crimson sea focusing irises and clenching teeth on knitted sweaters as if the world was ending
in this death and life and death to the summer, my stomach can't long no longer and the artificial warmth doesn't hurry textbook filled days
