the woods have disrobed
trees prefer their nudity
in the off-season

leaf prints in the rain
part of the concrete sidewalk
now running away

thirsty houseplants watch
through the balcony window
pots filling with rain

autumn falls on the
abandoned swimming pool
scum turns to green ice

no bugs until spring
frogs in the pond burrow deep
into welcoming muck

no less than the leaves
stones in the graveyard also decay
just more slowly

she calls at eleven
it’s past my bedtime
but I’m not home

weekend together
free from the city madness
stuck inside our own

her paranoia
is utterly ungrounded
unless she reads minds