Metaphors and Similes, in Autumn

Autumn has yet to fail me
And has birthed again in me some revelry, too deep to name, that
Encircles me like leaves
As the world goes quiet, along the ridge line
To teach us about leaving

The ravens above the tree-line come and go
As if they know the forward moving way of things
So far from green,
As the geese sing

I don't know why this fall is more for me like spring than any season
I’d think growth would make me touch the deep down things—
The hidden parts of being, but
There is something about the falling apart that feels like freedom
And leaves scattered in an endless storm of unbeing, with little grief
Speak the metaphor beneath all things:
There's something about not having to hold things together, at the end of things,
That sets us free

Perhaps we want, beneath all the posturing, to be undone
And to come home stripped down but unbroken
Rising like the moon through barren branches,
Which becomes the simile for beauty, no matter the season

Now we wait for the new moon, unafraid of any ending
Afraid only of holding on too long
And wary of missing the release sent to welcome us
And the death sent
To set us free