Leaves of Late November

Leaves of Late November

Kristin Ferragut

Leaves spiral,
fall in three-fourths time,
dive a fast vertical twirl
as though knowing no end point,
float to and fro as in
downstream descent — all reach
the ground. They lie
on top of each other,
huddle against curbs, and
nestle in edging between
mulch and now-rust-colored lawns.
Leaves rest.
Shade in summer sun,
glory of early fall — they’ve
been through a lot.
I wish to take their place,
climb to the top of the most
naked tall tree and lay myself down.
Like on a bed of needles,
the spindly twigs might hold me
for their sheer numbers, and I
could blanket them and their branches
with my 98°. That’s what I have of life —
heat and good intentions. 

Kristin Ferragut

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