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.
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