Roses fall, petals withered at the edges,

the reds and pinks of blossoms faded as the low sunlight, once full like soup now transparent as dust, tasteless gruel.

Leaves once thick with green wither to brown and cling to drained fragile yellow stalks till the silent weight of frost cracks the bond and the ground accepts the hollow frames, the substance of cells dissolved.

        The bleached cold air descends,

stealing life like brittle inaction steals love;

An inattentive shake cascades the petals;

promises scattered, impossible to reassemble.

Time flees, geometric in its escape;

 Space balloons to trap such small pieces of us in its roiling, empty extravaganza

it is a miracle that we collide at all;

Distance and despair, each such traps, frozen silence.

Roses fall, but not all.

A touch, some gentle collision, a memory; a word, eyes search.

Then you.