leaning back on the branch

her spine is arched

with wool itching her arms

 

it’s damp and

the leaves offer soggy comfort

as they stick to her bare ankles

 

the chill is tangible

cool air slices through her lungs

and her breathing turns sharp

 

the ground shivers

under the frost nipped grass

a breeze rattles through skeletal branches

 

the chrysanthemums bloom

as the yard withers away

leaving limp debris to harvest

 

the air is dry

the ground is damp

she stays in the tree as

the death festers

and color flowers