make quite an imprint on me....
but only on their definite drifting, aimless,
creating a rift between me,
and their beautiful sound-less...
so elegant and profound....
is the relationship between them and the ground.
metaphor, life, and humankind,
for a while, bursting green with the teeming
life of the gift,
gift of life to be seen in their prime;
yet we marvel at a leaf as its life
begins to spline,
splitting threads every which way...
with mortality like twine,
dwindle, the yellow exposing,
in the leaf,
veins like a sign,
sign, signal, signaling death,
to sign the contract between fire itself and the next step;
fire itself as the branches take their seasonal breath.
heaving, lungs collapse,
further seeding pigments and inject,
as connections slowly detach............
blood, and read these final words,
at mercy of currents,
falling upon your head....
life is dying,
life is a gift,
a leaf gracefully kisses the skin of your head...
letting you know that you are slowly,
but not before,
the final pigments,
in your veins,
the gift of life,
like the leaf's red,
thoughts in your head,
make the world,
make your world....
before you are washed ashore,
on the ground,