The Fall

How heavy my mind is,

ready to shed, to fall

onto the page.

Thoughts crumple and fade.

Ideas shrivel and age.

So much mulch underfoot,

Overgrowth to be burned,

Ground to be razed.

Now only the night grows,

Now only the crow calls, yet

Somewhere in this harvest there is fruit.

Somewhere in the darkness there is gold.

Somewhere in the fall there is fire.