I am the new autumn that will not disrobe my trees,
what perversion requires such debauched rhythms?
What new life must be wrought by denying the old,
can’t we tempt the sun to adopt our bespoke rituals?
Remember the spring we dreamt up unseen colours and
our rainbows wore more than seven bands, what
happened that you now denude that spectrum and crave
bare silhouettes pressed against silent nights? There
are still hues beneath my fingernails where they dug
into the painted flesh of that last summer. I am the
autumn that cannot let go and face a monochrome winter,
why does love have to change and fall before each rising?