Not Summer, Not Autumn Poem by Leslie Philibert

a picture has fallen off the wall,
broken glass as water in a pool,

the late sun steals the tint
from a bronzed arm, standing air

tense and stretched
with the threat of shattered light,

petals sicken and harden
and limp like crippled lovers,

buried leaves crawl into roots
curled like parchment, a garden

of open mouths, yellow toothed and begging;
faithless ghosts uneasy over dull clay:

a day granular in frozen time,
the moon hidden under the earth.