Absent without leaves

We drowned, here today,

washed up

in ancient woodland

littered with flotsam.

We knew few colors

by name.

But saw how they

merged, flirted

embraced, to

sweet-talk the senses

to silence.

Last night,

the first Red-wings

sipped the late air

with the high

muffled chatter, of

Field-fares passing.

Morning came garnished

in far borrowed brilliance.

The place where we

wandered to drown.