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Heal on the Account of Fall

Fall is in the air

The sounds of a passing train driven to the ground by cool damp fog

spreads across marshes, rises to my knees, in a ghostly hold on my soul

Rumbling, screeching rail wheels’ echo beneath my feet

The horn blow ripples up my spine

Fall claims the sky

gathering geese honk loudly overhead

summoning friends to leave verdant ponds behind

Their form even and true, wings keeping rhythm

the resound raising the hairs on the back of my neck

Fall marks the heart

Leaves rustling amongst the last fruit of the season

Fading colors twisting against branches thickening and hardening bark

The dry curling edges scrape and scratch like old hands wringing