farmer's market

I never understood the oranges she tossed into the deep woods of the backyard each split in two like borrowed suns from Egyptian hieroglyphics the cats would stay away but the squirrels would grow fat as eight month babies sucking down the good life’s nectar eventually the leaves would change and all the dieing would crunch beneath our feet, a perpetual graveyard wherever our bodies roamed and the only markers we could see would be scattered like broken bones, but sometimes, when the afternoon light would separate the trees just so and the fading green earth would burry itself beneath copper blankets, you’d catch a glimpse of souls gathering, reaching out for a taste of sun