There is this heap
on which we sleep
A pile of leaves
that seep into
the soul

Fallen time
Faded green
Folding up
into the scene

A place of gathering
we behold

There is a tree
overarching me
A river of branches
that I see
above my sight

Memory
crisp and red
Drawn in words
which were said

A dark comfort framed
by autumn's light
hangs deep in the sea
before the long quiet night