The Changing of the Leaves

Fall is a dream.
It comes the east,
where people dare not dwell,
amid prairie and mountain peak,
among you an me,
and it says,
I draw my leaves as curtains
and close the stage
until the next performance,
and we weep
for the death of flowers
and the folding of summer trees–
knowing that something
within us dies
with the changing of the leaves.