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....