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    Return to Earth.

So this is autumn,

I did not expect the smell of it,

I did not expect the softness of it,

the length of it, the going-onness of it.

When they said the leaves turn red in the fall,

I thought they bled, a short sharp haemorrhage

of leaves and that was all.

I have worked in ships where people queue

to view, twice monthly, the sunset hue

and planets where it comes and goes

so quickly only the iron mosaic knows.

Here each tree is like a hundred alien sunsets

rolled into one;

the golds, the purples, the yellows,

the soft pinks as the evening mellows

and then is gone.

Did my ancestors weep when they had to leave?

The genetic mutations of Adam and Eve.         ©2014  June Birch      

Inside Outsider Publications.

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