Bloom

Prehistoric ferns of yesteryear
Sharp at first touch, yield, then melt.
Decaying earth transforms
To fresh-scented beginnings:
Frost blooms on windows.

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Hunter

I recall the white
mist into which you traipsed
wrapping about you a
shawl of ice crystals

The metamorphosis into
a creature of frost, fierce
ozone and wolf fang
primal promiscuity won

the hides of conquered foes
shook, on your hips.

Red Carnations

Gambling on frost-bitten carnations
A handful for the vase at home
Red blooms in a mere six hours
Show the results of hope and warmth

Mid-September Morning

A chill along the fingertips
Between the casings seek a cool air
Permeating cracks and forgotten windows
Thrown open in the blaze of summer
The Indian time has snapped
Frost threatens
Arising, a craving for crimson and ochre
Colors of warmth

Autumn

Fall tingles an itch
A blanket of red maple
The scent of pre-frost