I can feel this new season closing in, 
ripe with auburn dreams, 
smoke inflamed against 
mulched skies.  

Broken corn-stalk shells, 
shivering dusk.  Looming spiraling descent into 
starched skies, 
frozen morning lawns, 
leaves bright and breathing as the 
winds pour down.  

Already there is that extra 
silence in the air.  
Trains howl against that silence in the milk of 
2 am.  
I begin to hold modern things 
tight to my mind.  
The glow of a TV set becomes an 
assurance that this warm womb of 
phosphor light will keep that 
stark expanse at bay.  
We are across the burnt bridge
of that shared past that allowed us to walk 
outside, 
midwinter, 
and not feel afraid.  
If those trains stall, 
that TV fall silent, 
the lights die at dusk and we 
huddle in our homes...  
Breath becomes much more visible and 
mocking.

A pinch of mortality in the air...  

Dark-sweet life, hold it tight.