spadterforge - Self as Season

Decaying onions, rotting corn stalks, spent sunflower seeds -
my garden ghosts wait next to your front yard like old promises.

My lawn is a damp blanket soft underneath your body.
When you lay your head back, my colors
warm and chill and begin and end.

I am a great willow, listening to the wooden fort
where you used to play - no more children to climb my
thick trunk, once solid as earth, now a green and mossy sponge.

My air reminds you of burning branches and apple cider.