Leaves Blowing

The leaves blowing over my notebook now
Tell a story of fate's machinations,
Its journey to everyplace hope springs, and how
It frustrates our expectations.

We play childish games, so we got a late start.
We spent half our spring thawing and freezing.
Though we met and connected before Mardi Gras,
We'd sprout after solemn church season.

Straight up from the ground, thin but confident, fast,
We were green, supple, teeming with life.
Our summer of heat shone sufficient to blast
Any premonition of strife

That would be some sort of long early frost
Between us, leave everything brown.
That young, growing green we once had was lost,
Its remains strewn on wind-blown grounds.

A few leaves are left hanging, like shadows with shadows
On the swaying, skeletal trees.
The curl as if burned by the heartache they've known.
They're as forlorn and fragile as we.



I tried to tighten my hold on her.
We crumbled, dry leaves in a fist.
I wasn't expecting, won't ask for forever,
But it should last for longer than this.