Maple fall.

Sundown, and the last whisper of storm

kissed my neck

laced my hair with five pointed stars.

Years close quickly now, all haste,

no time;

just for that moment

I was ablaze, all fire

and must of deep earth,

tangle of twig and sorrow,

lair and burrow.

Acer clad in borrowed gown

bequeathed by passing breath.