Posted on: Friday, November 12, 2010

rain flung from the fingers of the universe
gray knuckles swelling with weather; the day's grown older
rheumy streets running their faltering way

and autumn rises up from the ground,
this tender brace of color

the universe rests its hand on treetops, whispering,
Shhh, now. Be still.

This isn't death or even dying, but tell that to the trees.

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