Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Days of stormy autumn come
Mother, child, brother, son;
Memories, like dust, infect my eyes,
Swirling, like a Turner sky,
Land, sky, water, ripple by.
Like water under wind,
I begin to sing
Mixing grays and blacks and whites and blues,
With guitar chords to pull us through.
Chiaroscuro skies, tussling these monochromes
Into a piebald heavens above.
Below, girls in late summer dresses,
Taunt boys with unruly mothers,
Fathers absent, except in dreams,
Or, nightmares.
Where do the day’s shadows go?
September’s blackberrying has a-come again
Down languorous lanes we go leading only to this:
Dance with winter’s handmaiden and all her bleeding hands,
Freeze the ice crystals of the mind;
With words, stripped bare 
Of all the human heart endures.