© Matthew Word Bain

tall thin branches scrape the sky
towering over the neighboring foliage
and a portion of the old church’s metallic roof
slowly camouflages itself against the brick

in this diffuse light, even the tall trees
are no more likely to cast a shadow
than the over eager street light
and yet both herald changes

as surely as the roof rusts
the glow of the beacon
speaks of the coming night

and the bare branches
winter’s reminder
that even high summer
will yield to the coming cold

while the brooding sky
portends the coming fall
I wait, impatient for change