The days are orange, falling westward
behind horizons we created
and never counted on meeting soon.
The leaves are burnt, so gold it stings
the eye, foliage Septembering
already when I wasn't watching
close enough to notice their youth
had fled. Like every year, again.
Last year's disappeared ages
ago – ages buried and gone.
I didn't attend the funeral.
I didn't know their names.
My seasons are lifetimes longer.
My leaves don't crash and decompose.
You cast the dead away
And for this you will outlive me.
As a reprieve, you drop a leaf
to my cheek. It descended
to kiss me and bless me before I die.
