It’s not just the turning of the leaves
or the turning of the calendar that sets these fingers free
it’s the freedom to do anything
freedom to do anything and I do this
I choose to do this: miss the leaves that left.
I don’t want to dance myself into depression, who chooses to be depressed?
I sip my midnight like my coffee: black, no sugar.
At the crack of black midnight Sunday morning, still life with coffee, I turn like leaves and