Autumn

Thank you for having me, death. Please excuse me, must get back to it, life.

Always be reading something, he said. Even when we’re not physically reading. How else will we read the world? Think of it as a constant.

The lifelong friends, he said. We sometimes wait a lifetime for them

Regrets when you’re dead? A past when you’re dead? Is there never any escaping the junkshop of the self?

To feel even just the thought of one’s own bared self near someone else’s beauty

How many worlds can you hold in a hand.

In a handful of sand.

If I am destined to be happy with you here – how short is the longest Life.

John Keats

October’s a blink of the eye. The apples weighing down the tree a minute ago are gone and the tree’s leaves are yellow and thinning. A frost has snapped millions of trees all across the country into brightness. The ones that aren’t evergreen are a combination of beautiful and tawdry, red orange gold the leaves, then brown, and down

don’t like it when the summer goes and the autumn comes,

The rain was coming, she could see it when they got to the top of the hill, it was moving across the landscape like someone was shading in the sky with a pencil.