Corroder

Hypergraphomania, pouring print words
Into boxes, sits beside the windy waves.
A scarf of aspen leaves, driven to shore,
Dips and swirls among the shoreline rocks.
Long clouds slip across the rusty slopes.
Think of rust, you think of industrial metal,
Rebar, crumpled road signs, artificialness
In general, but rust is natural and ancient
To the world. Unicellular lives with living
Descendants, invisible to your eyes, left
Deserts of corrosive oxygen waste spread
Around a planet you wouldn’t recognize.
All the surface iron oxidized. Autumn one.
And you, box filler? Bit part of autumn two.