Red
from afar, leaves like uncounted catatonic fires
huddled close
pinned to the chill air
a pointillist’s love affair with a hundred shades of red
the ground is a fresh wound, edgeless
a breeze worries the boughs
stokes the hanging flames into quivering
crimsons
scarlets
vermilions
renegade ambers
a slow burn resumes
accompanied by a susurrus of sighs
a dirge for a season
and the summer sky, now turned slate,
is cremated
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