I walked into a storm of October's colors.
Every leaf held a secret in the noise.
I pulled my skin a bit closer to my bones
as shelter from the years of growing knowledge.
My warmth, a type of solace in sad nostalgia and loss:
in the eyes of smiling boys.
Old eyes found dew-drops, crystalline, in spider's webs
and augur out
of the form of my mother.
I bound my hands with memories.
I walked past all the trees into the open and the cold.
I listened to my voice reverberate
on coiled springs
I'm going for a walk until I find a grove of quiet trees
with roots descended by the snow.
I'm not quite certain where I'll go,
but go alone.
Don't retrace my trail;
I'll come back.