Yellowing leaves rain down.
They’re ready to let go of becoming,
of the color red,
of warmth and wet and photosynthesis.
Frozen nights have prepared them
to seal their veins and
grow cells that will help them scissor away from home.
And they fall all at once, gravity
seducing them to let go
of branch, of trunk, of organism.
The tree’s bare bones promise
those empty nubs name the variable
leaves to come.
These yellowing leaves rain down, moving towards
Beneath my shoes–their death rattle.
Your abscission layer must have grown thick
before you fell away, before
the early winter I had not forecast.
This heartwood waits for thawed nights
and the color green,
for sun and rain and the promise of petioles.
(written: some fall, some where)