"Soffits and eaves". A late autumn poem

In a pure high turret
burning crimson-patch

—the pine on high!—

& the soffits and eaves
clogged with leaves

The niftiest part of moon's
not so much a croissant

as cute flake on a lip!
And the gash of autumn, too

(a type of glissando, dear)

like a leaf edge bleeding
into sight as the child goes

and cool sprinkle of dust
on a cool urban stream—

the light & kick of water
It's part of a vital fall:

final finishing sunflower
(before the spill)

acorn mashed under foot,
shades of flighty jaytail—

just when you thought
dews sop up too much sun