How we think about life when it ends.
The morning streetlight amber, off in an instant.
The geese that fly in and then loop back without warning.
The frosted cars idling by the pavements.
The early fog that lifts slowly above the church tower.
The shock of violas trembling in their pots.
The blackbird that hops off into the thorns.
The branches that fade from green to black.
The accretions of mud at the edge of the path.
The hold that autumn has, though winter must come.
The leaf that will not be shaken.
But it will be shaken, now.
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