Fall in its variety fills the air with bright, brimming over with an ecstasy that brings us joy..
“Could that be so-and-so?” I ask, then I recall
when last I saw that face; it could not look the same.
Who was I then? Who am I now?
Have the interleafing passages of time
made changes? My mirror
reflects both now and then.
As leaves fall branches reveal their truth.
As years pass, faces describe ours.
Our DNA resembles that of trees:
rooted in cell memory, skin bark encloses our flesh.
No birds nest in our hair,
only random thoughts
and an occasional prayer.
Photo by Chris Lorenz
My days are leaves that grow
on the branches of my years.
I do not know their measure,
only their unfolding.
Beneath my feet leaves crackle:
days that unfurled, took in light
to nurture roots and branches.
The ever changing self I know
is not twig, trunk or branches,
but the ephemeral leaves–
days, selves, unfolding