Burning autumn, soaked
In a sweet density,
The thick meat of memory
Juices underfoot,
A final scent, pressing
The weight of the year to ground.
These days bruise,
Swollen echoes
Ache and sharpen,
Recollection seasons my veins;
Your lonely age whispers
From an earthy grave
Ahead of me,
Crushed colours
Cry spirals in a purple dusk,
Distance waves from the wings of deserting birds
Beating their retreat on fireworked skies.
