the space between

tree branches like sparrow tracks solemn
across the blushing sky. gray-black shingles naked-
gutter forlorn and empty, no leaves struggling
to find balance. before you
trees, these trees, manifestations of child’s stick-figure renderings—bleak,
desolate.
but then
grooves beneath your eyes extend
like half-buried sand dollars blanching
in dawn’s burning light. rays of heat pour
forth like lasers of inexplicable brightness from the tips
of thin branches, and
suddenly
even the wind’s howling fills my ears with your name softly

and even the last, steadfast leaf gracefully accepts
earth.

when I fell, I sank softly
into leaves of you. swirling, butterfly kisses against my cheek, faint
as a moth’s thin wings beating weakly
in cold fog. fierce enough
that as I gaze
out at gray-black shingles, they melt and begin to slide
off the roof. pools of molten leaves shimmer.

youyouyou

leaves silent now. look long
enough, you see pumpkin shards scattered
earth-bound. cold dissipated
when your eyes ignited—
hungry autumn colors soaking pages
inside of me, colors bleeding, curling into itself.
embers of you inflame thin branches
of my heart, smoldering
explosions across night sky. in between my arms, this space
rises like smoke coiling
from new england chimneys, or maybe the expulsion
of your breath in winter.