I Shed It Like a Skin

On the shore the tree leaves whisper


They will fall at the loving

touch of cold.

Cold is compassionate

stilling the river to keep

families of silt together.

I’ll probably fossilize under

the pressure of glamor,

among layers of lipstick,

bleach in the sun on the shore.

My days on the glowing shore

are limited edition.

I collect them.

The autumnal lake

licks the shore like a kitten

behind the mountain,

cold waiting to love us,

our lives.

The leaves chitter nervously.

I feel age, volume

pulling me down.

Youth no longer fits me,

I shed it like a skin.

I bleach,


The pressure of cosmopolitan glitz

is entirely too much for my brain.

Cautiously, the cold spills over

mountain peaks,

desiccates me.

The lake freezes,

kitten asleep in a box.

rough draft

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