I.

Summer flames past curfew,
yaws off orbit,
stores what thin daylight remains
within each autumn berry's
miniature sack.

When sunrise twists
one cold finger
between chill dunes,
it burns feathery cosmos
to cobwebby ash.

Small birds forage
among crucified vines,
discover pyracantha,
throw their drab feathers
against flaming clusters,
cascading orange banks.

II.

Somewhere between worm
and resurrection,
hidden Monarchs
ripen and morph
until quiet sleep cracks.

Elms bleed
on the afternoon
October expels
its frail firestorm.

Butterflies spiral beyond sage,
through twisting oak smoke,
float above the bay,
smoldering offerings
to fallen gods.