impute

under cranberry & golden leaves
that become brittle and bust
I move oblivious
senses overwhelmed I cannot compute
the data received
I cannot comprehend
how again deceived
under autumn sky
I marvel at me
how I'm still blind
could miss the signs
and though I would not impute upon you
motive nefarious I cannot dispute that you
did what you said you would not do
had I a heart left to break
perhaps you would have broken
but one before you left nought
but the smallest token