Leaves



Autumn crisp

colours leaves bright dead

trees sleep

roots deep beneath brown skin

I wither

her dried flower scent still on my pillow

her heart frozen like the ground

as she slips from my grasp.



Winter cold

stirs grey skies 

blizzard white blackouts

occasionally -- bird calls

I shiver

there is no departure from my storm, like Nunavut -- no roads

a loneliness so real

I curl in a blanketed bed, pretending her arm holds me.



Spring thaw

dances water over rock

ground cracks like mini earthquake fissures

life peaks above buried bodies

I smell fall’s decay and spring’s nativity

I force through my shell

the warm air freeing me

the cool rain cleaning me of afterbirth.



Summer haze

blurs ripening fruit into pregnant bellies

women bloom in shorts and bikinis

I swelter in indecisiveness

summer is the profit of spring’s commitment

I have made none

I fall into memories as though they were her body.



I tell myself I’m over her

living outside of sorrow — just

I trace skin with mouth, discovering new tastes

avoiding eyes and names

dew drops like sweet tears

from the leaves above us — across my face.

© John De Genova