On
the Anniversary of my Mother’s Birth, After her Death
leaves
have no need of birthdays
of
marking the years
they
unfurl perfectly minted
then
wait and flit with wind
watch
the caterpillars
at
a certain time
falling
down
their
own silk slide
as
they bounce
swing and spin mid-air
this
is joy
leaves
have no need of candles
to perform the annual
rendezvous
with reduction
in
yellows and reds
they
lose themselves beautifully
flutter
down to brown
like
ashes shook loose
from
an urn
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