Autumn Leaves

These could be our last days.
We could meet our end tomorrow
With the dull incomprehension
Of hooked fish,
Pieces of Kentucky Fired Chicken
In our open mouths.
Then the wide, straight roads
That led us here
Would crack and decay
To nothing.
The trees would stand in the quad,
Blasted and poisoned,
Watched for us
By the eye of God.
And only He would remember
How the van Goughs and the Plaths
Made their long, hard deaths
A swan song;
The way we walked on the Moon
And built Samarkand; the way,
When Autumn leaves fall to the ground,
For the briefest while
They dance in the sky.