autumn zoetrope

slowly the days get shorter

sparse celebrations

dot the landscape

everything dies, at least

for now

i spend my days counting carefully

the minutes of daylight

the moments of relief from the biting cold

when i’m not counting,

i’m not here, not now

i’m not with the pain itself, rather

the desolation that remains

i’m 6 years old in the backseat

on a cold dark night

the first time i met death,

around the time i learned to wish for it

or i'm outside my first apartment

no home to return to

tears pouring over

a golden blanket of ginkgo leaves

or i'm somewhere else, deep down in

each moment, watching the ice creep

around the dancing shadows

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