Fall

Tiny teeth nibble

Like a gently curious kitten

At places: the edges of my wrists;

Politely bitten

By chilly mornings and creeping mists —

My wrists and my ears and the back of my neck.

Contrast and scale increase

Air is easier pushed aside

Since I am more dense, small;

Slowing my stride

A rising lump over nothing (or all ?)

This thirst is tireless, raw, haunting my every stronghold.

A hundred varied tones

Gonging shrieks, petulant

Hear them: from every pocket, home and bed;

A thousand moments spent

Do not look up, do not turn your head

You will be torn from us, forgotten like the departed birds.

Hues of slowly draining life

Sepia calming youthful color

A pretty dying: supple to brittle;

In stilled lanes

A whisper — heard little by little

Bark and dirt and droplets on panes,

Burrowing through every chink in my carefully crafted noise.

Darren Cools writes from Portland, Oregon, where he works as a graphic designer, husband, and father. If you enjoyed this story, follow Sapwood on Medium and Twitter!