November stilled. 
Air hangs like ether  
Carrying the distant sleepy 
Songs of circular saws 
Counterpoint of cars, and the 
Periodic rise of a child’s laughter.
 
This sound seeps 
Between definition and opaque 
Holding fast to forgotten fields  
Lost............In............Words 
Found in wind-frayed books of years 
Settled in greys and grasses 
Ruffled by the hum of eyes.
 
Fall is a field of words.