Under the brushstroke
of apricity and a cold sun –
copper red and plum purple
virigina creeper leaves
hang in there with
peyote cookie intensities
like fireflies of frosted flora.

Guided by birdsongs,
I move through the crumbling
walls of a hidden garden,
beneath the cold iron pergola,
intertwined
with decaying thorny vines.

Squirrels hide upon my entry –
I am Goliath, but one that
wears his heel on his sleeve
and perhaps the buzzard
circling above knows this.

Then beyond,
the smears of dark shades
and sparse greens
of skeletal trees from
the surrounding woodland,
like a sanctuary
from the city down the river.

I clutch at this moment like
a leaf caught as it falls in the air,
fleetingly, it meaning everything.