screaming-red leaves
fall to the ground like paper slips from anxious branches
and tall autumn trees
lean toward me in excited poses
like pictionary players in a fall-themed room

and that's when I notice that the sky is moving
and the clouds are playing charades with me
and it's three words
first word
sounds like heaven in a beautiful pigment of red-orange brown
where the grass is dying, but the winds are alive
and the cops are patrolling their teas

because it's far too chilly for larceny
and far too pretty for siren-lights

to distract us from the trees

mhmm, this is the time
the moment of grace I've been looking for
and you can burn these dying leaves
every tuesday if you like-
if you like destroying paintings
that only mother nature could brush
but that's just you
your silly way of hiding death from your
view
from your windowpane

let's turn on the music and take off our belts
because outside, it's a rave of aromas and hues
and the stars still glisten with the same silver sheen
but the moon is low
the wind is high
and the ground is firm for dancing on
while the autumn leaves crackle
and my senses are blown away
by this amazing november high