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everything is changing/ the trees are burlesquing/ stripping to the bone/ backlit against the follow spot of the sun/ one glove flung in the face of summer/ look at all this English/ all this happy loss/ the forests are forgetting/ shedding photographs of August at our feet/ we walk on sun/ feel it crack its knuckles beneath us/ stare/ each amber leaf a preserved pathway/ This is where you meant to go/ do you remember?/ darling, this is the road you took/ when you spoke to her/ it created this map/ & this is the way you went/ now everything is changing/ & the cold is wondering where you have been/ the air has a middle-aged spread/ & the poem ticks/ & the second hand of the tree nudges forward/ does autumn know what waits for it?/ that at the end of everything/ there is only beginning?/ did you know that the felled tree/ made an atlas?