Fall leafskip.
November air has wrapped up the
sky in a blue satin bow.
Orphaned in icy waters,
grey flannel stones stand murmuring guard
over salamanders and disgraced samurai bones.
Photons flare a crisp greeting and
are off to Vega,
humming a De Broglie tune.
The hills are dressed to the nines.
Millenial toughs,
they arch their hulking backs
and settle down to glower at each other.
A long-necked river bird,
stunted scion of a T-Rex,
silently wings by,
carrying the valley with it.