fall has its own language
much like memory
its colors are vibrant and yet muted
creating words and sentences that are so
fragile that the slightest breeze disturbs
their grammar
mixing and rematching words into new phrases
that are gentle and webbed
fragile yet eternal
beautifully stark and enormously full
turning so quickly to dust and creating in this charcoal coloured death
a recitative
becoming what will soon be a barren vastness
to be inscribed upon by the voice of winter in
a well metered aria filled with sharp phrases and powdered notes
that complete the frame by which fall is known and knows itself to be:
essentially the nonessential phrase lodged between two commas in the
mouth of
eternity
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