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OCTOBER Michael Collings creeps into pink, sunrise-laden clouds -- black fruit-trees rest -- webs tattered silk to bare stalks; winds flay fragile knots. NOVEMBER LANTERNE Michael Collings one last leaf from summer’s grapes sleeps on concrete..., dead DECEMBER Michael Collings Paper petals Brown and cry; Shutters rattle, Storm-clouds cry. Twilight looms And shadows pull; Year’s-end glooms On rosehips full. March Michael Collings Crocus blooms—irisŐ beards like caterpillars creep down soft purple drops—but no rose. No rose— only thorns and nubs of pink against deep green and thorny canes—spare promises of buds August Rose Michael Collings Heat like calloused hands Presses breaths in hollow pants. Asphalt roadways glisten; Movements, actions lessen. Breezes drop; silence grows. A splash of life -- a crimson rose.

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