death in autumn

that inevitable cliché // the deplorable rightness of nature

safety orange

among blood-colored leaves—hunting season

fallen hornets’ nest

the empty days
in his pocket calendar

fallen tree

the skeleton it wasn’t

moonlit forest

the giant
my father was

sleeping

with one eye open
it’s his vigil too

through the COVID ward’s

double-sealed doors
it’s autumn

trumpet of the dead

I’m listening

felled on migration

the clouds in his eyes

in the pines

my ration
of moonlight

In the sun’s house

we saw for the first time what a complete absence of nuance would look like. How irresistible it would be.

insomniac eyelids on strike for overtime

snail chewing

on an empty snail shell
the autumn ahead