The Bureau of Nature

The trees are calling
from their quilted mist.
I'll quit my quilt
to join, open fist.

I'll be falling 
up and to the west
dogging the rocks
with the best of my 

gazpacho feet.
Deep and damp,
beets and clamps,
carpentering together

my walrus intentions
to trick the magpies
into becoming the latter half
of their yin portmanteau.

It's a nature bureau
drawers, administrators,
the coloration that inspires
winter to technically begin.