a statue in the overgrown yard

hard blank eyes staring into the trees

wind-blown leaves drifting like easy lies

fallen arm half-buried by the plinth

rough at the break but hand intact

ants crawling over the fist still clenched to hit

once monumental now barely noticed

time relentlessly consequential

savaging statues and makers alike

on the train through the mountains, I leaned my head

to watch the window fill with autumn color

blue grays of rocky outcrops and infinitely variable skies

greens browns and brilliant golds of turning trees

but what caught my attention most and snagged into my heart

an unwitting hook that would bring me back

were slender fiery-hued leaves, living tongues of flame

they burned like words I would one day remember

finally I speak them because I am home

I see these leaves now in the fields where I walk

hooks no more, but warm familiar friends