“I free you,” said the bare limbs
to the falling leaves.
Below, they gathered in a memorial;
of so many colors,
Perhaps To honor
the loss of their beloved
or perhaps to finally effervesce
in so many hues they never knew
were each awaiting promises.
Looking up in their paisley passion,
“We free you,” cried the leaves,
as they clattered in Autumn’s breeze.
The limbs’ shiver surrendered to utter stillness
and the slide of leaves turned and shredded
and star petal vibrant colors began
to brown at their ragged edges.
Sympathy for the beauty
that hangs on by a frail stem.
Sympathy for the limb who
could do nothing as its verdant creations
withered in a cold submission
it could not control.
What returns to you in Spring
are not soldiers and replacements.
What returns in spring
are not wishful memories.
I’m not here for you to die upon.
We’ve come not to die in seasons,
but to fall from this life
in endless cycles
beyond which time and place
lose touch with reason.
“I’ve one love,” said the limb
To hold death and life
In the buds and knots
That lie within.
All lies within.