the shape of things

I stand in the back yard at dawn
and breathe in the color of life.

I am circle, I am square,
I am curve and zig zag.

I hear only sounds of nature,
birds calling,
leaves rustling,
wind whispering.

There are no secrets here,
in this morning.

Everything I see is preparing for winter,
each in its own pragmatic way.

The kiss of frost
kills softly,

I am hollow.
I am empty.
I am taken.

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