After
the storm,
apples
pave the grass
and
famished deer
migrate
from the woods.
Their
sense of smell drifting
with fog over the fallen fruit
while
tree stumps
expose
their bald wood
behind
a
wire fence. Patiently,
they wait like shoe forms
to
fill the soft leather
of
frost-worked leaves,
but
the season isn’t ready ----
.
Autumn
still travels barefoot;
a
shawl of sumac
pulled
over her sunlit hair
and
full skirts of wind
muddied
by the warm stir of water.
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