Counting the Leaves
a piece of scarlett flowing by
flirting with the threads on my arms
breezes tied to their season, warmth running dry
canopies reddened with alarm
endless thoughts of winter's tide
her endless beauty and biting touch
winter's coronation has arrived
crowning the ground with white dust
one leaf left, a hanging army
whipping with wind, holding for life
one thousand one...
a brown corpse, dried and free,
last tear from the tree.