As winter shuffles in and stomps its boots,
and autumn, fleeing, leaves the door agape...

This is what she would have thought,
had she thought at all, with her sea...

Certainly. How could I not recall
how...

Clever cirsium, too clever
by far, arms herself in...

The wave approaches,
silently...

Alone within this evening bright,
am I...

Today
When the sky was the soft blue of despair...

I'm the sweet orb of August,
firm and plump and glowing orange and red...

My grandma wears army boots
and tromps in them for miles...

The last day bird calls
a single sigh to the dark...

Walking together down a path crowded with moss,
white oaks, and thorny bracken we pause...

Muscles clenched, fingers fisted
grasping faster, unresisted...