Tragedy of the Fruits

The Tragedy of the Fruits

I awoke to frost

Glistening on the withered walnut tree.

The still green leaves fall

Slowly

In memoriam

Of warmer days.

You were there,

And when we opened the door

Into the still quiet hours of the morning

You said

I wish the air did not taste like the highway.

I wished the drivers

In the cars

On the highway

Outside of my home

Might stop just for a moment

To watch the trees outside.

They don’t.

So either do I.

Outside a walnut crashes

Through the branches of its tree,

And hits the ground

Bounces once

Then rolls

To a stop.