Sycamore


It’s leaves are spread like fingers,

five fingers like a human hand

tinged green and gold and red

by the fall.

It’s hands are open

to the elements

ready to fall now,

ready to fall into fall’s hands,

ready to crinkle and wrinkle

where the fall placed them

to wait for winter,

to wait for their decay

to feed the roots

and feed the earth.


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