Fall coming

Summer leaves drop
with guilt
on cold dew grass
always when I am not
watching
my eyelashes seeming to 
shake them off the branches
with each blink 
I wish to starch them flat
with my grandmother's iron
and try to press out the brown 
from their stems
til they start to smoke

fall is the only season that
cannot be undone
that cracks in a day
and shatters in a week

and when I draw shapes 
in the foggy window
I watch them fade
again and again