It is fall again.
Stags rutt in sunkissed fields,
does watch as betting onlookers.
Antlers shed on yellow blades.
Goldenrod sprouts from the earth,
as an arrow does a wound.
Fields of sunflowers dangle in the wind,
like long pinwheels.
The steel skies blanket the earth,
in tearful bullets.
A frog takes shelter underneath a lily pad.
Mallads shelter themselves,
beneath flowering dogwoods.
Apple’s grove’s leaves fall to the ground in a world wind blur.
Their red fruits fall to the ground,
with no one to pick them.
Lake water reflects bygone,
tattered reflections.
Geese flock in V patterns,
their feathers hit the water.
Fungus festers on dead, rotten things;
their mycelium stretches far,
like dirt paved country roads.
A tree falls in a forest,
with no one to hear.
The festering comes
for its corpse.
Everything dies, but in that,
new things can live.
What remains of a memory,
when it fades?
Memories of a memory.
As the last leaf falls,
the world sleeps.