Casting Lots

I observed as Autumn and Summer
faced off at the brink of each other--

"I shall win, this time"
Autumn declared, and the sun dimmed, just a little.

"Take your Pyrrhic victory," and Summer handed over its leaves
bowing out, but not without a plan to return.

Air, a little colder, leaves, a little golder
became windblown, tumbling away
but not before I threw in all of my pasts to join them
then turned away, feeling new.