Those eternal trees stand in the cooing autumn
Breathe, naked, stripped of green, gold and brown
And yet I see in them a new beauty before locked
Now loosed to fling like the crooked and fraying
Flails of limb and bud, reaching high into the hard
Slabs of concrete glazing overhead.

They fly low and lower and grow dark and thick
Though I do not wind anxious at the sight of them.
I welcome them. I welcome the gentle lonely diamonds,
Soft and shimming when they spin just so before
Landing on the pale brown and turning to dew.

In them I see anew. The retreat of life in plant and bird
Does not carry any omen. In them I can gaze upon the
Ever brilliant solitude I have striven for from March till
The raising of the gaudy tree on that December morn.
In them I view the thinning of the current and the coming
Of that frigid blanket that leaves only it and I.

I lay my hand on the most callous of bark, chilled
Into stone beneath my pale and bloodless palm
And think, merely consider, all the things I have
That are not threatened nor threatening and so easy
To grasp, never tiring, never extinguishing.
Though, It is fitting that they are but subtle aromas

Lest I overindulge.