Autumn

Autumn

Has let itself be known.

 

Beyond this point crimson fire

has burned through the horizon.

A shower of leaves blaze through

the swaying brown wheat, mournful

at its harvest.

The pink berry lives in the fields of orange.

Sleek pines counter the fluid movement of color.

We have lived through the world together,

Gazing at the textiles of fall.

The yellow shores and the azure bay;

The russet meadows and the neon wildflowers.

Draping vines move their petaled fronds

with their transparent silver and shades of gold.

And here are the chestnut oaks as we speed towards the

Rising Sun,

the world

gray in the

morning.