only the winds

Mid-September
Watching as rose and carnation bloom
In common pact of suicide
Early winter winds blow down
From distant Eyjafjallajokull and Hvannadalshnukur
Such that now I no longer sit in my garden
At the old stones
On the old bench
Writing the old book
That I never mean to finish
Nothing signifying nothing
Ending only fading
Leaving the corpses of memory interred
Deep in the soft sad songs of sleep
Drawn down by a deepening dread of darkness
Where only winds remain