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.

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