These Leaves Didn’t Fall, They Were Pushed

Restlessness lifting my fingers like the dead leaves given new life

by the billowing breeze behind me, out my window,

swirling in circles, tiny cyclones caressing the street and the trunks of the trees from which

they fell.

Jumped, more likely. Wouldn’t you?

Leaf stems tying them down like umbilical cords

mooring them to wooden arms, stiff roots like anchors

bending, but never setting sail from their native soil.

Now the leaves are free, spirits spinning around bodies

the earth around the nucleus of the sun.

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4 thoughts on “These Leaves Didn’t Fall, They Were Pushed

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