On Changing

The light faded or was blocked and in the evenness I saw the yellow in your leaves. How wonderful you change. As if
Each leaf, each strand of leaf on leafy stalk decides, alone, completely: Now, it is time. Not like other trees, ones who start at the top, like
They’ve been toasted. Or ones where one branch, maybe strongest, maybe dying, goes orange from the source. You
With flapping arms and shaggy head have chosen to speckle in your little way. I am dazzled.


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