the hourglass has turned,
and time sifts through my fingers
falling
as swiftly
as the golden burned leaves
struggle to fly off branches
the world
spins out of my control,
silk blue
swallows my head
I hold out my hand,
expectantly,
and a single leaf
drifts and catches
in some hole in my heart
my hand tightens,
it crunches against my dry palm
I cling
to desperation
to hope
for a better season.
