outside the sun shines
and warms nothing
from the other side
of a frosted window
I stare and watch
the brilliant hues of dying leaves
dropping like gallant heroes
to the hardened ground
gathering in heaps, piles of
withered dreams, burning
on vacant corners
trampled under foot and tire
I imagine the ground
grown so cold, too cold
to touch, opening to swallow
the dead dreams of green
a hand reaching through
grabbing my dreams
crushing them in a closed fist
white as chalk and gone
taking my autumn leaves
underground where
I"ll never dream them again
they rot on the curb
burn on the trees
fall to the cold, cold ground
outside where the sun shines
and warms nothing ever again
