Luckless Hands

Could you let shine
that which you never held
deep in your chest
kindly caress
in every hue
you never felt
from luckless hands that you
were never dealt?

Last Fall

Leaves of saffron and marigold
mingled with canary and rose,
some shattered, some frozen
within the mud and early snow.

The scent of chilly air and soil,
the sound of familiar voices
rising up at once to a roar,
the feel of gloved fingers below,
all fused becoming something new
that grew more and more distant,
but she enjoyed her last fall; every hue.