Form yields to 
fancy
tilt has ground the 
moon

Into the glories of 
november where
the colors collapse 
into 

The just pits 
of venial sins
and past betrayals 
unless

You’ve gone 
too far
and then of 
course 

You are beyond 
hope
and should 
surrender

Before the 
brutal cold
closes in for 
real

When the 
fall stumbles into
something like 
winter