Aspen, birch, and cottonwood disrobed.
Rusted dark, the aging sun rolls down
and slides
        silent, golden, rare,
        through naked trees that sleep upon the hill.

Real daylight slips away,
(or am i mesmerized?) absorbing,
seeing, dreaming amber, slanted eyes of frozen autumn dusk

Tonight the seven sisters will
reach down to touch my eyes
through elemental yellow
        swinging low, and live, and bright.

Turning south--
i hear, wild summer flows
and warms with living rains
but the veins of winter dialate tonight.