Something almost here

The leaves have voices now
chafing in the 
crisp breath of fall
til their ashes run like blood
on the golden floor
people tell me to 
be quiet
and not remind
the leaves
or they may 
wither to their
autumn dresses 
overnight
and twirl from their
barstools
but they keep me awake
gasping in the wind
like hooked fish
strings growing loud
and fading
in the purple shadows
rattling with the 
ferocity of an inhale
and breathing back into the 
night
the rigor of an engine
and the sly
to make fools believe
rain is falling
but no
simply the leaves
the crisping
thrashing 
gasping leaves
chafing in time 
with the cicadas