Sunday, September 29, 2013

Here, where no leaves fall

Here, where no leaves fall
D. Ficklin

Were I not here, where no leaves fall
I would chase them as they did
And pick them up
And trace the lines of their veins
Each one a sketch of their parent tree
My handfuls a forest
A bouquet of orange and yellow and red
For you to toss back to the wind

In my dreams you do
And I breathe the heady scent of the woods
And the wind
And each footfall is an exclamation point
And we walk, scarf-entangled
And though the air is cool
Our hands and eyes are warm