No Way Out

Out in the meadow the Japanese maple

Burns red in November sun, slanting in low enough to uplight

The lowest limbs.

Red, it pierces me, destabilizing an

Already unsteady self, wraps anger

And fear twinning as I fight the tears.

In past times I've loved the fall, my

Season, the season of my birth,

I thought that I've been good and strong

And tried to occupy my space and time

With some intention; 

With love and an open heart.

Red, like blood, like fire, fugitive,

This intensity.