There is the yellow
fanning goodbye from branches of trees.
The hungry wasps, skinny waists, yellow rings,
bump against the screen.
They seem to know their time is short.
There is the red.
The sumac on the side of the highway
spills crimson under a fading sun.
The last cherry crabapples fall and roll.
Their flesh and seed will still feed bird
Pumpkins sink into their inner orange, desert
their posts on lawns and decks and porches.
The mums begin to lose their fight with frost.
And all these things bring back what I have lost.