Dying October Angel

Arcing up moon-leaf:
Nectarine fulfillment...
Dancing curve, graceful
slump, into the ground
I am last around.

This is the flight of minutes -
I am lost in this season.
Couldn't it feed me a sign?
Why am I tracing this hunt through my pores?
This is the world. And I am
unhappy friends with these red clouds
Until it secretes an end.