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∴

you cannot begrudge the colors from coming

whose change is ever steady,

nor can you stay the little deaths

that must,

like leaves,

shed from us

as snake skins and old matter

that mattered once

but must let go.

 

stand here,

on the edge of wind,

and watch with me

as they fly;

little tornadoes of yesteryear’s trees,

sweeping up in memory

what once was

and cannot be again.

 

will you dare with me?

 

to wait out winters’ crisp unknowing

and enjoy

with joy-filled sorrow

the colors

we cannot keep

from coming.

∴

 

 

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