Sunday, August 17, 2014


Look, here shines the leaf
dropped from its mother’s arms
into the soft living muck to dry 
in gorgeous shades of death
--corn and saffron, ochre and brass--
and at my touch the crisp veins flake
into a mist of umber snow 
and I watch her demise with longing, 
seeking a bit of solace in it, 
seeking to make peace with it
before the night erases all trace of it.