Deciduous December

These winds and this chill
took the last of my leaves off.

It's darker now, as dark as it 
gets. And again, as usual, 

once more, I am fallen
too, down below the branches,

in the shadow of even these 
dirge clouds. When I remember

the pattern, it's like decomposition.
The wet decay gets purpose

with just enough remaining heat
to turn my veins into food

for another
inevitable 

                                            spring.