Dust violet powders the distance Displaced sunset sneaks in under Glaucomic clouds that steal my light Silver smooth skinned ghosts Don November's steely greys Tall thin reachers-out-over roads Mix timbered fingers in the air Incanting their alchemy Winter comes, Winter comes The sky a scaled and inverse sea Night is early To feast on rusted hills Her cape subdues the heated trees Summer is old, jilted Her bright sun left angry Burnt colors onto trees Orange yellow red flamed alight Bright, brief, fallen now Whisper quietly, Cooly fade to browns Crisp skeletons Circling scatterings, Pageantry abandoned Airs shift drifts of papery hues past due Feet meet nothing solid, so Deep I slide and swim in them And, feeling Frost I take a narrow path Towards home, where Sleep lies, miles away