Fallen Leaves

This crisp chilly wind
disperses your flame colored hair,
just as it
caresses my shame colored pain.

Looking up, I see a celebration
of end of green and growth
by the free flying leaves
of many colors.
Each leaf is a word,
each of their turns in space is a poem,
and their synchronous flight an epic.

And just so,
at the end of our season,
as the warmth of your love wanes,
my emotions,
once green,
now blue and red,
vibrantly fly
in the mind's graying sky,
in one last celebration.