two thousand six hundred miles
east of here I was raised
in the Appalachian foothills
autumn painted maple and oak leaves
in primary colors before they fell
here it’s over a hundred degrees
and leaves still drop
their deaths a less dramatic
default brown from green exhaustion
no funeral reds or yellows
it’s the fatality of summer
a student’s collapse of freedom
the murder of early dawns and
late evenings warm water flowers
a fall that pre-curses winter
a change of clothing and mourning
things that remain unfinished
a dream project goal deep desire
an expiration of promises
that desperation to make a change
and with no preparation for
what’s coming we are dragged
into a life after death like a seed
thrown into a burrow hiding
and huddling to survive
until with one spring sun
beneath the dead leaves
warmth hits a nerve
and it starts again
life unfurling
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