Soapbox

Some Autumn Days

Some autumn days
when the sun is lemon custard bright
and sharper than glass,
the trees in their robes of scarlet and orange
ignite when the light touches them
like votive candles  enkindled
to celebrate the beauty of day
and pray for mercy in the darkness ahead.

Some autumn days
the leaves beneath my feet
smell exactly like front doors slamming
and car engines starting,
tail lights dwindling at the end of my street
and they rise and fall around my shoes,
goodbyes not spoken, yet still clearly heard.

Some autumn days
the sky is so illogically, thousand-mile blue
and each cloud sculpted Da Vinci perfect
and I know I could be crushed beneath the weight
of a single bird streaking across it.
But when I tip my head back and throw wide my arms,
my heart rises like helium on a string
and realizing I have no more need for it,
I open my fingers,
let it float away to be with you.