In Fall, you messed up the stone garden in my guts,
with reddened flesh and a roughhewn alibi.
In return, I raked through your fingerprints again
and again, until I dissected skin and hit ice.
Meditation broken, I began melting,
but before my pine needles shell had defrosted,
you have already perforated paper lungs.
My breath next to yours fluttered
like a butterfly amidst snowflakes,
immortalized within its frostbitten skin.
Come spring, I crumbled like woodrot
while you washed away like snow on
dried autumn leaves – a season late and