The grey weight of autumn rolls sagely across the sky, Each breath stretching past the last.
Time falls slow and deliberate into the reflection of the glass kingdom. Holding summer’s babe in his carpenter’s hands; Slowly kissing the sleeping forehead before whispering a secret no one will hear.
Rust blooms from twisted limbs and the canopy pulls heavy with things let fall; Circles of gold and peach pits.
Steam rises again from the bones of this amber machine.