the pumpkin's frost
has not been lost
on the pattern of leaves
that the eye perceives

winter is nigh high in the sky
not seen with the eye
but evenings get chilly
as i walk willy-nilly

following a leash on my dog
much like bumpkin on a log
on each tree
he lifts his leg to pee

as i dutifully follow
i do not wallow
in self conceit
but follow the beat

i find in the street
to a solitary retreat
where i find
a way to rewind

this shattered mind
to a time
when it stood still
watching from a sill

waiting for winter
to come splinter
the season
for no good reason

except to recycle
the icicle
the seasons
and life

10/15/2008