The last of
the leaves cling
tightly to barren
limbs shaking weary 
in strong winds 
the weak having 
already gone away 
the few that 
remain count days 
before the first 
snow finally falls 

Barricade of blue
above the mountains 
warns the clouds 
you shan’t pass
and like onlookers 
who slowly gather 
at crime scene 
or maybe protest 
they hold their 
line waiting patiently 
for the sun
to wedge between 
like some negotiator 

The pace slows
to a crawl 
no hurry here
like first steps 
after the crawl 
the first few
inch by inch 
before becoming feet
and eventually miles 
then back to 
crawl and quiet
and finally play 

From far off
miles maybe feet
maybe even lifetimes 
I can hear 
the door knocker
of some apartment 
down the hall 
rattle with announcement
metal against metal 
less cymbal and 
far more cold
and I wonder 
when and why 
and how mine 
might ever do

Never need
only want 
anything or
anyone for 
needs compromise 
they may
quench they
may sate
but they 
never satisfy 
they cripple 
ones decisions
wants provide 
a perspective 
an either 
and or 
never must