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lo-infusinoPoems
It occurred to me today that I like the way you died. You died gently, the way I hoped you would, as if the fall itself was enough. And then I remembered that the fall itself was. I let it draw me away the way I knew it would, to naked skies hollowed out, nests for the cool indifferent air that creeps in after dusk And then fall crept in on you as the violent heat we knew dissolved, and the profuse life turned into something less alive like the permanent muted color of the world I now belong to. Any kind of you and me that ever would have been fell, like the leaves are doing now, I'm told. They said they changed colors first, like bruises blooming against the sharp, liquid sky. And then they  fell. By the time they sank to the ground, they were all dead. The bodies will be piled and celebrated by some before burning. And though they won't know why, the smell will remind them of something good. Only those of us who have already gone might know that the smell carries every good day these bodies have seen a whole season of good days, an age, brief as it may have been, worth flames.
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Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
Ashes
It occurred to me today that I like the way you died. You died gently, the way I hoped you would, as if the fall itself was enough. And then I remembered that the fall itself was. I let it draw me away the way I knew it would, to naked skies hollowed out, nests for the cool indifferent air that creeps in after dusk And then fall crept in on you as the violent heat we knew dissolved, and the profuse life turned into something less alive like the permanent muted color of the world I now belong to. Any kind of you and me that ever would have been fell, like the leaves are doing now, I'm told. They said they changed colors first, like bruises blooming against the sharp, liquid sky. And then they  fell. By the time they sank to the ground, they were all dead. The bodies will be piled and celebrated by some before burning. And though they won't know why, the smell will remind them of something good. Only those of us who have already gone might know that the smell carries every good day these bodies have seen a whole season of good days, an age, brief as it may have been, worth flames.
lo-infusino
Written by
lo-infusino
American
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
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