Monday, September 21, 2009

September Falls in Mount Pleasant, Michigan

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.


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