LatinosUSA

Are my leaves beginning to brown?

They’re dark green still, but ache to flutter down

To a hardening ground, to flowers less awake,

A weeping willow over a soon swan-less lake,

In which it sees what it is and its central desire,

To be engulfed in another, like two sallows in a fire,

In some moments, as self-aware as a tree,

To feel that I’m you, and we twine, and you’re me,

And our pulp is soon paper and the paper a novella,

Is it Gothic perhaps? But the twine lasts forever,

And feels like those moments, when you look to the sky,

At one with all flora, “We don’t really die.”

Are my leaves beginning to brown?

You’re keeping them green, you’re delaying that sound

Of the crunch as they lie on the hardening ground.