summer’s silk purse is turning
first leaves are down and marooned in the water
a soporific season
a stifle
a garrote
a hack hack of catarrh
long shadows cast across oily water
gap-toothed, grinning trees
silently slough and shed
ripe fruit under threatening skies
the berries bleed
orchards rot
the leaves show off
it’s a paint-splattered seasons end
of diminished light
and carnivorous dark […]

from Mid-Land by Nick Holt


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