the trees grow eggs

& we were so unprepared. it is autumn &
when i walk, i try to catch as many
as i can. pockets full. hands full.
inside each is a dead angel. i do not know
what can be done with their bodies. 
at first, i tried burials but not the soil 
weeps with eyes. we should be more careful 
with yearning. if we are not careful it will be
the egg tooth in a space suit. here comes 
gravity. here comes a comet with your name. 
i can not try to save one more. but, there i am,
still running to catch. arriving too late.