The Falling

by Donald Erceg
(Portland, Oregon)

Still trying, old man

to tie words together like what?
a string of pearls? Hardly. Hearts?
I should have been so lucky.
What then? Leaves?
I like that most– a celebration
of the aging year.

The sap has run its course
and the tree begins to grow
by divestiture, casting off
the clothing it no longer needs
to face the winter of its year
like the naked seed
it once was.

Shall I hang it, this string
of autumn leaves, in my living room,
bedroom or bath? I’m guessing
it doesn’t matter much.
A celebration anywhere is
cause for joy

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