y=e

The air is crisp, and speaks to me
of sunlight sparkling through the trees
a bright wine on the other side
of the sun, when I shall be older
and today’s new life will be
that season’s grandfather leaves
floating down to rustle among brothers
and sweep down the hills—
becoming soil, becoming life
soaking into root veins & reborn;
one year’s crisp cool evening calls to the next,
one orbit or one hundred beyond.