in this maze of bleeding leaves
as if the mighty Him spilled red inks
on top of the lush trees and twigs
to signal the yearly seasons’ shift,
find me lurking not
beneath the tall towers of red and yellow,
find me hiding not
inside the house with the whispering cello,
find me sitting not
on the edge of the long, winding road,
find me breathing not
inside the rushing car, suddenly slowed.
one more inhale,
one more exhale,
soul elevates maybe
to heaven or to hell.
well, the view from the top
of this scarlet autumn spell
makes this final moment
a little easier.