end of October

skeletal bushes wearing
the shed skins of trees

reading in the woods

a falling leaf taps me
on the shoulder

death in spring

finding his green tent
fallen in

wandering

through the hair on my arm
autumn mosquito

i insist on a whisper

fallen leaves

clearing wind

I’ve managed to escape my flies

Fog walker

fog walker 
the millipede’s carpet 
of legs

leaves falling

through low sun
a yellow-shafted flicker

death in autumn

that inevitable cliché // the deplorable rightness of nature

safety orange

among blood-colored leaves—hunting season

burial tree

my 100,000 miles of veins

high winds

a falling branch crashes
my party of one