Even the babe
has to detach. It's part of
the birthing aftermath. As leaves
on the trees in the fall

blow off their colors, red,
gold, and all. So, every branch stands
naked against the crisp autumn
air. And the ground is a blanket

of leaves flying in pairs. Two threads
of yarn woven together, a weave,
unraveling and separating. The
green is now fading into yellow

and blue. Not part of the same
hue. But just as colorful a strand -
not stranded together.