October Leaves Me Longing

The horizon 
Is a lake of fire

Billowing waves rolling and cresting

Lifting and crashing. 

It is no small wonder 

Anyone or anything 

Endures this month long inferno 

And emerges on the other side

Alive. As far as I can tell, 

Even the most stoic among us 

Are challenged 

Are changed.

 

Smooth green to golden yellow 

Vermillion, crimson, 

Then burnt, crunchy, and brown.

I am walking through a battlefield;

The sidewalks are littered

With the corpses of leaves,

Yet the air manages 

To smell so sweet and light.

Dearly departed, how I long 

For a death 

That might approximate 

The smell, of

This burning consummation,

This arboreal orchestration.

But, in the end

October leaves me longing, 

When I am confronted
With window panes
Wetter than my eyelids.
Forcibly squinting through 

To glimpse

Shamelessly naked trees and
Luscious greys that infuse 

The few lingering,

Precious scraps of 

Living beings.