Fall Poem

Fall and spring were far shorter than winter and summer
which dominated my childhood in opposing extremes.
Fall was subtlest, no bloom but just slow muddled decay
I stare at my feet now, eyes searching
damp leaves in the gutter
speckled yellow purple red orange and brown
that are still there tomorrow, but not the same,
Because they blend a little more
camouflaged into an essence of autumn
If they were gone tomorrow I doubt I’d notice
Just as I fail to note their arrival,
After which they multiply, and then divide into many more
days passing by, wet dust at my feet
pencil shavings, eraser residue, candle ash,
What is dissolved to suggest an image
fleeting as the season.

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