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October Storm

How can I do justice to that hive of light,
Leave-taking’s blush in the maple, more
Than anything any more words may say?

No vowel endures the cold so thoroughly,
No consonant dies with such finesse
Before it falls. To close one’s eyes

May be another way to store the gold
Particularities of each leaf swarming,
Fed by a wish winter will not diminish,
No matter when I wake to find what’s left.