leaves ordered dark to bright

would that i were
some brocade pattern sea of leaves
to be swept in a line from
orange to dead brown

for though the dark and mottled
would spin in great number
and blot the screaming lines of sun
i would see once and for all

what mass of me
could catch fire

and come winter
myself would spiral
on the swaths of white
and looking black against it
be nice to see

but for my part
i will try my spark
on my death hoping
God is there
to keep me from orange