limowreck

Skin flakes away in the dryness
of the air,
walked out to become something
other than
a synopsis of a dead tree
with a tire
hanging in the background.

Rotting foliage envelopes
the tired hands
of trees, swaying in the chill
of October.
The glamorous colors have
receded from view

as the lights go out, one by one...
and then nothing.

Nothing lives here but memories
of idols
and tchochkes of significance
known only to
the dearly departed from long ago.

Whispers of ice speak from tomorrow
letting it known
that its not too far behind.