the soft gloves of leaves

it's as if the sun never rose
on
days like this.

not gloomy in particular, but
a lighter
shade
of blue, nearly white,

the serrated clouds.
the cold sun
hardly up,

dappled between the bare
trees,
the soft gloves of leaves,
orange and yellow,
still hanging on.

it's a non day. a day
with no name,
no signature. nothing
to hang
your hat on,
as they say,

just here, just getting it
over with
in some
casual way.