Ollie ollie oxen free

Sweet autumn, locking thumbs

Summer has washed away

into warm wooden bowls

and pumpkins and stew;

spoons hanging

and scarves that hug,

eyes that lift and leaves that die

they change, for lusting backyards,

fences or swingsets

they're scummy, scraping

shrieking, swallowing dirt

growing into walls

ballooning across rivers,

cutting carrots

dark cider lights,

candles that touch the syrup lamps,

elephant ears

in settled white fog

look up, shivering,

clouds, orange and geese in dark green,

grassy crayon grass

laying potatoes half brown

by ginger and the earth

under leaf blowers

rippling spacetime into rakes

with fingers in their snaking tongues

Between wooden teeth

biting within clouds,

dispersing that cold water

fusing the genes

smiling dances,

smoke and glowing footballs

passed through the dark

but Your brain interrupts:

"do we die every year with the leaves,

the sweet potatoes,

the lambs, the harvest?"