"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.