i fall to piece s

fall and fall and fall
winter at the brook
an impotent sun’s streak
through dirty window
i clean and the roaches
re organize
assembly at the watering hole
somehow i see you
less and less clearly
in proportion to
how the image of me grows wonky
out the shadow of some candy-box memories
you are beautiful
always beautiful
and reminding me
of what
i can’t say
a season is turning
and I’m at its cusp
shivering while sweating
curling to a sweater
and parting it open