this wind kicks pieces of autumn through a slatted fence and my stratospheric eye chases neon in cerulean blue - orange pekoe stars from plane tree toss. this day is poised before a seasonal hand shakes down winter shutters, the rattle of bare wood and trigger breezes, sunken sky and the whip-snap of frost in morning sheets. do our lives too glow orange at the last? our minds in cartwheel against past footpaths while sparrow- hop gusts lift and recede. do we feel ourselves settle in death's silent browning of rainbows?
Written for Twiglet #279 “sunken sky”
and Lillian’s dVerse “Compound Me” prompt (I used handshake)