Fat with autumn food, the forest does not know
It is naked now.
It eats up death for supper.
Drunk on a cocktail of summer and vein sap,
The brittle leaves dance:
They see the sun as a mirror ball.
Cider-wild, Eve puts it all on a tab she cannot pay.
She stands – soft, unsteady.
An exit sign flashes in the sun.
She eases herself back, moves slow on the moss floor:
She is naked now.
She steals her supper from the forest plate.