You sip
this moment. It is the
exact moment
that leaves are falling.
It is when
you watch those leaves float
with elegance and
aimless drift to the ground
that your heart lifts
and falls
just a little.
In the shimmer
of the leaf
all faith in the power
of nature is restored.
The grand cycle of things
is abandoned to the idea
of stolen grace that seems
orchestrated in that moment
just for you.
It sparkles
it twirls
it flirts itself away from the cling
of the tree. It grazes its sister leaves
It kisses them
cheek to cheek.
Wind releases
a sigh, and it jumps
from its partners
and descends
like a bullet
aimed to exterminate.
Many leaves
on the ground
seem to you
like so many deaths
of what you have known
as beautiful
Every year, you mourn.
Why do they fall?
And if they must fall,
Why do they do so
with such allure
only to be crushed
and degraded?
The cycle
is remembered. And you know
in these piles is the promise of cold
and the need
to draw closer
warm yourself
by whatever you may have neglected
while the sun rubbed your back.
Those leaves
reflect the season prior.
They said, “Remember this?”
You nodded as they fell.
You wept
as they mixed with litter
and rain.
Their symbolism
was your heat.
