It’s not overrated to watch leaves fall
in the autumn, unless you’re steeped
in desolation from doing it alone.
Golden Leaves the size of God’s hands
spin down from the maple, leaving
the tree brown and stark.

The farmer’s bonfire across the field
smells of wood smoke and celebration
which eventually has the same scent as
depression. The farmer’s family moves close to
the flames, faces tinted orange-yellow, glowing
under October starlight. I bet those people are
making wishes as if they were standing around
a giant birthday cake, or are they lapsing into
saddest memories, staring into the fire, hypnotized?

I’m standing in my backyard, looking across that field,
thinking my well-being is as brief as the last chapter
of a book. I’m not unhappy, just puzzled by
how swiftly the good things and the bad things fly
past me as quickly as a night bird.

Tomorrow, I will watch the Earth continue greedily
to catch falling leaves. They will pile up, but
I will not swim through them as I did when
I was a child to escape the angry drinking of my dad.

I see that the bonfire is dimming. Bright sun tomorrow
will make me forget there was such a fire
and that there was a short time when people stood close
to each other as if it was their first time to care
for one another.

I shuffle into the house, no hurry, but
as I turn away, I can feel light from the chilly moon
crashing down on my shoulders.