in changing their color,
air had a purpose
in being cold.
Mornings had a purpose in
breaking early and nights in
falling.
Last fall.
Falling in love was purpose.
This fall there is none.
Leaves stay green but tumble
in spite of it,
cold is chilling
and I cannot love sun or moon.
I know it's me, not the season;
the world's autumn
seen through mine.
Either way, the sun has
crossed the equinox, and
left my life behind.
~October 3, 2010
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