Discrete silence of laying on the stones,
rustle in fresh fallen leaves and feathers.
Swirl memory and all imagined bones;
summer wains worn knots on a weak tether.
Accordion billows bellow love’s spent beer,
as icy winds sweep tepid butts and gutters.
The dulcet harvest guise allays spring’s fear
when ripe barley dreams fade in a flutter.
Black shoes and smile, black eyes and listless gaze,
turns her back to the avenue; avoids any tack.
The alley opens to winter’s sleep, lucid haze,
fall love’s impasse is not a cul de sac.
After summer veneers denude to sod,
bare branches bound to love’s latter nod.