Autumn: Farewell

First day of autumn

And the pine cones

Are raining down,

Sapping and staining

Everything.

Acorns and black walnuts

Pave the road to hell.

All of this is the  noise of essential death.

It’s how it is.

Falling

Is not an easy thing,

And it is not neat.

And the neighbors talk.

And you talk about

The knife

Cutting this way and that

And how important the that is

For the thing to really mean anything

And the rest of us who take pills

Or try to gas ourselves

Are selling out on whatever it is

The knife brings to essential death.

And that’s great

For the people who find you

And find the knife

And really love how

In control of life you were

For the amount of time it took you to die.

Great.  Like I said.  There’s nothing like the last word.

Ask any poet.

This started with pine cones,

Pine cones

Gently falling

From graceful, elegant trees

Gently leaning on the soft clouds

Of an Indian summer day,

The heat of life

Reluctantly leaving--

Saying, in fact,

I am here.

So you are.

So live:

Breathe, touch, taste.

Know life while you can.

There is no forever.

Never was.

Not even for you.