Autumn

Leaves torn from branches by early October’s wind
flutter about, scraping over stone and brush.
Fraying at their reddish fringes,
occasionally they stick and I swear I can see them
gasping – if only for a moment – to catch their breath
before their tortured dance continues.

I find that I am cheering for them,
invested in their plight.
I realize I am one of them…

I too could have been crimson.

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