October Leaf
How will you receive me if I submit
to the black glass concealing your undertow?
Will your currents treat me fair and fragile, like the sparrow
that I am? Should I first test you with my forked
toes before forfeiting the rest? Or will
You take me only to discard? Will you keep
me pressed against the riverbed amidst the smooth
stones and other collected corpses, unable to justify
your means. And why should you? You’re right, after all.
I will not fight you, but only if you
Promise to let me float on my own, for even
though I need your gentle guidance, I do not wish to
feel it nudge my clipped wings, or squeeze the music in my throat
until the pulp congeals in my lungs—sinking me— at the behest of
your cold waters.
Watch me as you would an October leaf.
Follow me as my brown body slips
beneath the small rapids into white eddies,
spinning toward death as only a universe
on the hungry lip of a blackhole can.
Will you let me disappear in an
oxbow if it means that you may have me
forever, but never hold me? Never touch. Never
kiss my lips or eat my song. I’ve given myself to you freely,
because I needed to, because life required me, but
life never cared for me the way you do, gentle Death, so
hold me a second more in your cupped palms, then, when you’re
ready, close me in your hands and crush me. I’m ready.
