There is in October, a little red maple tree
Outside my bathroom window, all summer long
I never notice it because
It is simply green, and
It blends in with everything else.
Now, in the year dying,
There is too much time to notice everything
The seasons wrap themselves around each other and
There are many dead people to think about there
Are opportunities wasted and love lost.
This is the shaking out of the summer worries
Permanence has never been such
An illusion, and now in the twilight’s gloaming
Tiny aspen leaves golden and falling at the edge of day.
Miles away from home
In darkening wood, and shimmering trail
I see my red tree,
Stretching to heaven in days dark must and mold,
And stolen pity silence.