Nothing's come
and nothing's come of it
and days like nothing
come one upon unmeasured one
into each a pear a peach
a fruit wasted
fruition unreached
overhung in boughs
clothed in leaves
beat like wings
in black November trees
bruising air unripens
turning brown and molten
by the violence of flying feathers
overheard laughter drips
down in ripe caws
your ears burn of this
out of reach spoils
overhead in your head
a rage pecks the flowers
of your eyes a flightless pain
a frustration left a rotten taste
in your mouth months
go by met by days
like starved birds
dazed hour infertile
as frozen fields
plowed under by black horses
in October your bare words
dried gray as cold limbs
blow across the dust
of this one moment more
by a stunning winter wind.