Parting Late September
A lone star sits above the somber moat.
Beijing, the pocket that holds not the autumn days.
Falling, fallen.
It dreads the ginkgo leaves for their land-dyeing hues, as it grieves them over their fast-muting scents.
Dwelling, dwelled.
Parting late September, a deepened farewell to the ancient city, the secondhand fabric that dies out.