Wind whips through
the scrawny trees
screaming, squeezing
Autumn right out of the

air
where

i am going to need
adjustment therapy
days so much shorter
i find it hard to be awake
at any given moment

my system shocked
hours stolen
like leaves from branches
defenseless, senseless

it almost seems violent

reliant on time
i have discarded my watch
television guides it
but hides it and so...
it goes, grows...soon
this too shall pass
(she knows)

prose:
something to be
found amongst the
loss all around

the world out there may
boast of dead leaves
and granite ground

the deeper i dig
the more i look in order
to SEE,
the more earth i
cultivate in you and in me...

and this i like to call
Mother Girth.