than the autumn leaves
flying off the maple trees
in late September. I
remember when she

was smooth as the
bud on the maple and
round as the kitchen
table. She’s falling faster

than the pouring rain
on my windowpane in
drops of Jupiter. I remember
her juicy and green like a

cucumber.  She's falling faster
than a roller-coaster, with her hands
high up in the air. She once was
a seat, like my chair.