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  • This is the time when
    things fall from the sky
    or if not
    float,
    caught suspended in light touchable through trees
    I imagine a world full of spider webs
    where the forms of things have crumbled
    but their outlines remain in silk.
    Gossamer and gold
    like the delicate hands of an old lady
    weighed down by rings.

    I want to be that leaf,
    there,
    the one that fell in flight
    and now rests half-way between
    this life and next.
    It hangs like a jewel from some invisible thread,
    toying with gravity,
    but also offering a rare glimpse into something
    I wasn’t supposed to see.
    The fallen so often go unnoticed, and most leaves would rather
    become road candy under my bike tires.

    But some stay and hang on
    baring their fragility to those who notice.
    I hope they’re not embarrassed
    and realize the gifts of their exhibitionism.

    Let’s not rush this.
    Too soon it will be winter and the trees will be barren,
    then we will be naked and already forgetting how we got there.
    There is something so beautiful in this morbid strip-tease,
    cast aside your shame for a moment and look:
    A woman is on her death bed.
    Before she dies she calls her husband to her.
    She takes off her clothes,
    her wrinkles sagging,
    edges crumpled,
    and stands before him,
    unalterable.
    What husband would dare look away?

    Wed yourself to the world,
    be there for the unfolding.
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