An Autumnal Poem

Does it fall down
Like a leaf, a piece of autumnal grandeur, tumbling in ecstatic winds,
Down from a branch,
Wind-rustled and blooming with the blush of cool air?
Branches can be grasped;
Air will not be climbed—
Grasped like a leaf in my palm,
Climbed like ladders toward a stretch of sky, crisp.

Palms stretch their fingers heavenward,
Crisp leaves branching like my palms—
Heaven; branching veins like my veins,
Palm lining up with my hand,
Veins pulsing with an organic heartbeat.

Hands, tiny and wild,
And heartbeats name romantic bests.
Wildly they together chase after the autumn,
Besting me. Is it the leaf or is it the wind?
Autumn grasps after me with long, cold fingers
Of wind against my cheek, like a forest of branches.
Fingers dance across mine.

Branches may be climbed to higher heights.
Mine are steep.
Height increases with every breath,
Steeping tea leaves in water to be warm.
Breathing is visible this autumn evening,
Warm as steam on my face.
Evening spreads, cool and bright.

My face warms at the sight of such splendor.
Bright attitudes, like a blushing leaf or bride,
With splendor and hidden ecstasy.
Brides blush and fall
In ecstasy down the aisle toward romance.
Fall breathes romance through and through;
Romance that builds you ladders,
Through fallen leaves from branches.
Ladders you fail to climb,
For branches may fall—don’t think it.
Climb; think that it grows.
It does.

25 October 2007

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