She is Autumn
As she turns
I catch sunlight on her cheek,
fragile as crumpled silk.
Her eyelids flutter
downward movements
like zyphers
Her hair has changed colour
over the seasons and the years
As she moves
I see grace in every turn
smooth like worn stone.
Her hands make circles
careless emphasis
or metemorphosis.
She reminds me so much
of a fallen leaf.