As Red as Warmth

The leaves are falling. Listen to their stories before the winter demands that all be still so it can rage and sing.

Autumn

Maple leaves,
fallen, scattered
on the damp grass

as red as warmth,
wrinkled, freckled –

open palms,
old skin,
each one sharing

a different history:
the tainted vapors

of breath,
the orchestrations
of silence.

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2 thoughts on “As Red as Warmth

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