LEAVES

I had learned to hate God,
for Fall's enchantment wrapped around me 
was just death-the year's swan song
beckoning to me; I was wide-eyed.
And I embraced it from the darkest 
regions of my heart, dark
little boy that I am.

Who could hate for long though
in the calm and detached tree's wake,
with its slow crystallizing 
of cross-fade bleeding colors 
gone all awry to death?
Who doesn't see that happen
beneath the horrid pale detachment of dying flesh?

You crumble them in your angry fingers
falling to your knees and burry yourself.
Wild dog scutter through the thickening layers,
harmlessly spring off your fetal-like body
in pursuit of one small and frightened rabbit.
What claims you've had disintegrate to one—
to be stationary and watch life passing
like some safe and endless yet touching movie.

With your eyes glazing over
from a bottomless well of warmth,
the sun's glare sifting through, the blood spilt,
the accusatory snapping faces—
all blend to unintelligibly melded parts—
pitiable monsters tragically out of reach.

Trees dogs and rabbits
leaves and everything passing
making room for the coming—
all demand some tears for your lasting 
so long this way hurting
from the privilege of such yearning,
to console— with the beauty of the ages.

Started while residing on Lancaster Ave. in Syracuse, NY; 1990 or 1991, aged 22, 23, or 24.