"He inhaled autumn..."
He inhaled autumn deep into his lungs
and fumbled in the pocket of his jeans.
The flames climbed vertically against the maple trunks,
as crimson tongues advanced against the greens.
The pyromaniac observed it from up close, -
the crackling embers falling to the ground.
He stood in awe, illumined, and composed
new music in his head, though none around
could hear the melody he heard. Then, it was over.
Burnt to a crisp, the leaves lay at his feet.
And no one saw him leave, as late October
continued smoldering in puddles on the street.