fall has come
green and yellows, small pieces
red and orange, time leases
green is all and done
white frost horizon bound
Imperfect Philosophy
iron, steel, and glass
lines stretching from feet to horizon
arches above and the ground shakes below
rumbling and tumbling
oil slick and rain wet
oddly nothing is in the net
fields and fields of stone
to walk these paths alone
at the end of these paths
nothing but endless bird baths
airy fields where puffins range
oh what it is to be strange