They say
rêverie
made
the human heart.

I say
we first unfolded
our heart
gazing at trees.

Hypnotically
we watch the dancing leaves,
waving green,
flamboyant canvas,
single brown hanging on.

Delusionally,
we learn the longing,
we portrait our storms,
we are taught transitoryness.

Is this not
why, as a child,
we handed leaves
- the most special ones -
to eternity,
in between the pages
of our favourite books?