You might kneel to the ground
to focus your imagination on it
only to find your own story
from bud to leaf and in the end to a time
where October brushes over your dry skin
and the last of the sun
drains the color from your lips
I found this to be true
the leaf’s journey as the wind’s loyal servant
is equal to mine
set free to drift towards a resting place
far from the mother tree
where the pink sky backs up the mountains
and the last of the day’s light fills with stars
