One of late fall's cruelest tricks—
the repeating patterns of symmetrical bramble
where abundance
and plenty
and multiplicity once stood.
No more ears
of colored kernels on
the corn stalks,
no moss
among the farmhouse bricks.
And elsewhere, across
every deserted city park,
warped baseball diamond,
desiccated front lawn,
stems, trunks, vines, stalks—
all blossoming
with the colorless
fruit of autumn's sameness,
all in illustrious bloom
with our loss.
