Dry Blood

Jagged leaf edges
Crisping with
Heat of frictious

As stabbed by
Switchblades of sun
And shade

They burn
And ebb away
Puddles in gutters
By wind to blow

Of dusk
And shadow

Wine drenched bark
And branches hark
To coming dawn
Near dark

As wine turns whiter
And cresting light further
Set upon autumn
To drench in more fire

In umber clad
Cutting amber can
Reverse twilight
Sparking near dark

Leaves in their drains
Meant for storms
Now shimmer with dew
Cloaking their forms

For what morning is
Complete without
A conflict of
Frost and fire

As the near dark shades
Die to the blade
And sun breaks branches
Through leaves to stain

Dry blood
In gutters

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