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.

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