Autumn

Autumn is a disease.
Earth's skin sheds
glorious colorations.

Tens of thousands
of wild geese linger at the lake.
They have forsaken long journeys lit by stars.
The narrow wooden bridge
is spattered with their droppings.

Blackberries and white daisies
lace the drying bushes.
A broken branch leans over into the water.
On the branch green leaves
light the dark satin.
There is no despair without the knowing.

Beneath the sun a sudden blossoming
of peach and pink in distant woods.
Suddenly gone in the wind.

The sun strews golden petals on the water.
Reflected waves smooth incoming waves
into a gilded solid.
Yes,   anyone could walk on water
if the purpose became apparent.