I fall
and gaze
at the pumpkin sky
on a bed of crackling blades
The wind cuts a figure
of my face
The clouds I fix
with an eye
Great mounds of cream
in a steeled pan
sliding softly to a
warmer
side
Their edges ooze
at a million points
that following strains to a sigh
To hold this season in
my view
is a folly
I'd known from the start
Sweet clouds too gooey
to bear any message
I close my eyes
Let the breeze play
Autumn's aria
for me
Psico
12 years ago