Blow the summer sky into the past
bury it beneath last year’s dead leaves
and sweep it into purple sleep before the fall.
Dark days are coming
black wind-fingers plucking tree music
scattering leaf notes like startled birds.
The storm will pass
ebb with the hiss of a wild tide
the blue beaten and bruised
and we will learn to tread the frost
follow leaf-veined parchment maps
in search of hidden treasure.