Imagine a world where
Leaves cling to trees
All through the long winter siege.
Anything green gets cloistered
Into the hollows of swaying trunks.
The cure for this unhealthy obsession
Is simply to sit and watch the leaves
Fall, waltzing back and forth,
Drifting in whispering autumn breezes,
Meandering along jazzy paths
In ever downward progression..
We aren’t much different.
We’ve always been free
And falling from the very beginning.
Born into being past spring or summer
It’s always just been autumn here
And all we clutch are rings of smoke.
So many years of wasted white knuckled grips,
We could never stop winter.
But you think you’re just dying,
Caught in a long downward tug,
Hardly worth the effort to resist,
(Even though you’re actually dancing as you do it
Sashaying to and fro
Shaking your hips
Having an absolute ball
Without even knowing it.)
You’re too busy laughing
And wailing your way toward some becoming,
Ebbing and then wafting on gusts
Of lover’s sighs
Of children’s merry cries
Of mother’s last whispered goodbye,
Bobbing along like you’re flying
Or floating in an infinite massless ether,
Your steady inertial drift
Occasionally quickened by
The inexplicable joy of unexpected lift
Just before another deep dip.
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