It was the end of summer
that first time
We should have known
that something would grow
Everything was wild and
unrestrained
Death came
with the last of autumn's foliage
The maple leaves on the ground
red as blood
I raked them into piles
with a fury, desperate
to bring order to turmoil
It must have been December
when I noticed
my heart, covered in hoarfrost
like white mold
on a bruised strawberry,
untouchable and
spoiled.
