by Pavel Chichikov
In late October leaves change color
Crimson bloody, bronze and gold,
Spectacular a forest full
If people did when they grew old,
Like walking through a holy room
Where death did not decay but bloom,
A hall of gold, a hall of bronze
A hall of dawn and setting suns,
And when the wind had thrown them down
Such splendid bodies on the ground
(See Pavel's new book, Mysteries and Stations, here.)
