today’s cold, crisp leaf passes me by
why do we not connect as we once did?
i fear that this green will not come again in all of its freshness
why do we not remain in life as we once did?
for certain, no good comes of joy without equal parts pain
joy, the flutter of the leaf still connected; pain, the moment of parting ways
but what to call the reality of dead wood, where there is not a leaf in sight, but only a thickening numbness?