tarnish
the sky hangs
low to the ground
saturated with rain
the light drizzle cascades
in two cold rivulets
down the face of the window
yellow and brown
leaves
litter the yard
disowned sons of
the neat piles
windblown
into chaos
the day too foggy
grey to rule
from my icy
windowpane, mottled
by anxious fingerprints
there is
no reflection
gazing through to me
the wind
stirs
the foliage on the ground
almost like
the crunching of dry
leaves beneath feet.
