Autumn Reverie

In an orange sky, an orange sun

is like a pear falling 

from a tree.

Death should always

come so easily.

Do leaves suffer when they die?

Gaping at the sky, is there a moment,

when they emit a sigh

and wonder why? 

The September winds blow

on the black clouds, like  bellows

into the distant sky.

And what of April or May—

they’ve been here,

and are already gone:

life  has always been that way.