Fall's bitten garden is stalks of liatris bent at the elbow,
chewed coleus bowing to earth
crisp leaves of primrose stenciled with maple stars
dropped from tree bones overhead
Breeze, swelled and curled and riled into unexpected wind,
unclenches talons of the climbing hydrangea's
raptor claws and redrapes the frosted vine over soil
We know it's there, air, by what it does
It sweeps and rakes morning to night,
piles hours into days into weeks
Look at air cloaked and shuffling Look at air,
a sister traveler ambling with no itinerary
talking your ear off as if you cared to listen
Published in Gettysburg Review
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