Dead leaves fall from a living tree,
captured by a breeze, to gather at my feet
tiny mounds
of earth browns
and ill-colored greens
piled on one another / rustling / autumn winds
serpentine screams

tiny graveyards
un-esteemed;
reminding me of last evening's
public television’s episode (almost
appalling)

a special / they call it
on letters from the holocaust,
readings / from surviving
members now lost
Gone grey and slowing

as they speak unnerved (aging)
deep sepia slideshows during
their somber, teary-eyed recollections / lifting
ghosts and rocks of faithful memory

heavy, from the loss
of their progenies...
Those silver photos of nannas, sisters,
brothers and fathers
fading details of what it cost
the camaraderie of suffering

which time has (and they gladly)
frost, depressing
me/ with my big screen magnavox,

i remote control a pause...

&

So...
The still dead leaves of cemetery browns
and soldier greens,
lifeless and lifted by the wind
without empathy / or guilt of sins

an airy power, a commanding force / unseen
gathering / stems or limbs
of these casualties / of autumns
Long winters so profound
none following the flight

of cold fronts in blithe

clustering together / piled / artisanal scenes
at my sandals, toes wriggling
crunching underneath / souls

weathered / beaten / down

death seems simple - like a mindless breeze,
nature’s indifferent devil
dust to rust
it is the way of things
We shifting / graveyards of leaves
as if a memorial of use-to-be's
from a roar of sightless tragedies
memorium of wars
tombs of bodies / images of defeat

not so simple or beloved

the nature of such things
in these leaves i see
of thee i sing....