I look upon your faces, masks fallen to the ground; romanticized your autumns, and let your greenest leaves turn brown.
Beauty unbound from its jailer,
realized success in
spite of her failures,
though expressions of trauma
I watched round gardens turn to squares, perfect fences fall down.
I saw the meadows mutiny and cold’s crescendo expound.
White picket ambitions
by burial grounds beyond,
and fauna reared on
into small towns.
I’ve climbed your swan song like a tree, to the top, ’til I could recite which lyrics snap with my weight and how many could have caught my fall. I pulled myself up after you’d been sapped of your bark, and I watched as your woodland heart was cut.
In that moment, I forgot how to love like
leaves would return next summer, adored
all accounted for.
to form, even the
longest winters fail to last,
and here I finally
look forward to