I saw a tree still carrying
the burden of leaves.
Dead hanging corpses
clinging long past the autumn foliage
had fallen in coordinated beauty.
But losing time this tree held onto
it’s past in umber paper.
Written in veins of
newborn chicks,
summer sunsets, misty mornings
and it could not accept the death season.
And it could not
move on with fellow crooked, naked limbs
mirrored beside it.
So I looked at my own burdens
So I looked at my own burdens
latched onto weighted limbs
refusing to part with them
in beauty or shortened days.
And interchangeable parts
I realized peers in
heavy coats and woolen hats
were just as naked as the trees around them.