To Dance the Grey

Agents of Autumn ascend the heavens hanging
low in a sky scattered with clouds and snow.
Beige and lavender blankets the yard with hints
of what lies below. Thin limbs branch out from
the trembling trees reaching for the sun like hands
from a grave made too soon...too shallow.
Wind sends waves of rushing air through the
half-opened door and up the stair. With chills
of surrendered ambition she shuts the door
against the uninvited guest. What she leaves out
in the cold is that knowing of what lies below
the fallen, falling god of Autumn. The god revels
in the relentless dance stirring up spirits like leaves
along the street. Moving in circles with yellows,
browns, and greys the god smiles like all the rest.

11.4.1996