Winter light is soft in the south
glowing gas flame red,
day breaking with a cold chill,
the ground covered in leaves
as the sweet gum and maple
shed their summer coats
for the descent into root,
the dying desire
for what comes and goes
passing without heat
into the rain soaked soil.
I let go with the breath of trees
what was mine for a season,
impossible as sand
and gone like sunlight,
harvesting these few hours
before falling into night.