hydrangeas in November rain sway,
wear crushed corsages of wilted umber.
Dawn is an open window,
screen door slamming,
faded moon packing to leave.
Leaves cartwheel across the sky
like stars, drift like kites,
cords cut by sharp notes.
World settles to earth,
brown to the last shade,
green gone to ground, sleeping.
Copyright 2009 by Thomas L. Kepler, all rights reserved