by Bruce McRae
Autumn’s meiosis, summer in algor mortis,
cooling perceptibly, thermodynamics’ second law in gear.
Post equinox attrition and the shift down into stasis.
Because you can’t just keep on living.
It would become deathly dull, you’d start to smell,
immortality hinting at ‘senescent indignities’,
whichever side of death’s door you’re standing on,
whether heavenbound or pickled in medicinal brine.
This is nature’s way, wind-up, tautness, loosening the spool.
We’re chaos’s children, bathed in unseen radiation.
Formerly stardust, we weep in the October rain.
We read till the last page, weary as angels.
The Earth is covered in snow and in roses.
© 2021 Bruce McRae All rights reserved.
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