I.
The door ajar
seeping into darkness
through softly falling
leaves, fire-bright against
morning’s blue-grey mist
I liked this day until
too-cold rain
piercing
falling
II.
My bare legs are cold
against your midnight eyes
and I know that you too
write about the rain
[+]
Fall; Past Those Same Bare Trees
Falling like leaves in autumn,
petals from dying flowers:
thoughts of you leave
trails behind me,
hollowed.
I walk this cold road every day—
bare
as winter trees
suffocated by frost
(just stay)
maybe it will start to snow
and maybe
someone will watch it with me.
[+]
Savannah Grant is a student at Smith College studying English, Studio Art, and Poetry. Besides poetry, Savannah writes novels and short stories and hopes to published more work someday. She vastly prefers rain to sun and kittens to children.
