Just
before 7 a.m. in September,
And
the sky is already tinted
That
sharp, brisk blue of autumn.
The
rising sun glimmers and touches
The
red-leaved maple, setting it aflame.
Wind
stirs its branches,
Sending
crimson sparks flying;
Igniting
something within me.
And
so I wait, on fire,
Engulfed
by this crackling blaze,
Wanting
to understand
The
reason behind the burn.
I
don’t have the answer.
I
only know all fires become ash;
The
smell of smoke subsides.
Time
passes and we forget
Until
we’re inflamed once more
And
cry, oh yes! I remember this!
It
is for this reason all beauty burns—
It
startles us because we forget that it can.
It
stops our hearts, holding us captive,
Making
us ageless for a few moments.
It is itself never old, for it lives but briefly,
And
is reborn again, like spring inside us,
Even as winter approaches.
Even as winter approaches.
