Your hand grows gnarled.
It makes a fretwork shadow on my face.
The judgment of the mood is Biblical.
I hear you counting red leaves as they fall.
...
How well you speak the language of the rain.
Your mood plays back to me on dusk's blue horn.
Light is unstable as a candleflame,
A thread of being subject to the wind.
...
Sun crackles in the blue reserved hill.
One lone leaf glitters eerily of chill.
The sky looks grosgrain from my window sill.
...
The boy caught in a dizziness of leaves,
Flinches as colors fall from wind-clogged eaves
Shouts as their shadows race across his sleeves.
...
If this became the last day of the world,
The sun and moon and stars mosiac hurled
Beyond the barrier of time and space
While we stand locked together face to face
...
Snowflakes create mosaics of moonlace.
They paint fantastic shadows on the glass.
A word or two accents the falling day.
Dusk flickers like a magic picture light.
...
I had you at the height of your poem.
Green thundered in the silence of itself.
I think our moment had its perfect storm,
Though it existed in a shadow tune.
...
Black house roofs are a mirror to the smoke.
The cloud mood makes a backdropp for good-bye.
You lift me parallel to chimney stacks
And make me dizzy with your old world kiss.
...
I feel the gray rain falling in my mind.
Crying becomes a thousand leaves outlined.
My eyes are mesmerized by red sumac.
A touch of pewter shines against my back.
...
There is a God of red leaves and of dying.
He traced dark landscapes on my window pane.
Spare and beautiful the sound of crying
Libations of black coffee, drops of rain.
...