I came for the leaves
But almost came too late
The bitter heat of summer
Making each leaf too brittle
To do much except
Turn brown
The wind making
Those that fell
Swirl at my feet,
As I stroll this mountain
Named after a bear,
This last gasp before
The air turns bitter,
Too much for
The brittle leaves to bear,
The river,
Her river and mine,
Flowing before me,
Connecting me here
With where she is,
Even if neither
Will ever see the other again,
Connected by the elements
Of wind and rain,
And in the lack of rain, fire,
The tender, even bitter kiss
That I feel still
Missing it,
Reading into it something
That may not be there,
Reading tree leaves
Not tea leaves
Believing all they convey
The wind, the chill,
The leaves that fall,
All part of what we are,
And always will be.
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