Scyth wind today,
this last walk under leaden sky,
where the leaves of last autumn’s notebook
lie scattered underfoot.
Cold sun blinks, retreats to hide:
It cannot show its face today.
Scarf flutters, bright red, behind me now,
Sinuous artery, an exclamation point of existence.
I no longer need it.
Frozen earth warms briefly,
Lone sparrow leaves path of sight.
Only
Brittle branches now remain