the maples have molted their summer skin

and amber sap begins to trickle through

their veins
i embrace the knotted roots
protruding from the cool ground
fingers and cheek becoming bark

we are on the cusp of november

and that backyard maple still stands
even though the fairy houses
i built below it are
long gone

the bleached sky is sinking

towards me
saturated with teardrops
ready to shower the earth
in her laments

autumn is my rebirth
i am soaked in rain
like water from the womb