Let me explain death, son

When you are the willows 

and their finches gladly in and out 

of shadowy nests tangled deep

within blackberry brambles

and October hesitates

in the naked cold

red is the color of your blood

before it touches air

yellow are the apples

in the dead man’s field

how can all this die? 

who spreads this rumor of death?

looking at you as you slip into a bath

I understand the meaning of torsos and toes

outside cows wander through an icy fog 

following the night rivers

finding each other and everything green

their horns shed into the broken grass

one day we wake up

and the apples have fallen

some birds are flying south

and there is nothing to explain.