The Leaf Transport
My fall leavings were hand-swept to dispersal—a seeding. You, my tree, what leaves on the ground. Brittled to a pulp.
“Leo, leaf me,” you pressed. The old leaves-die-leafs-light. You’re left all the same. A boring to bear.
Where you, kempt to the frame, kept figurines and postcards for their proximity to experience, I snuck portions of you, now finger the offs and outs, cast thefts across my chest in a bitty embrace.
To close, you loathed me too close. Leave me seasoned in what’s left: your tissued cloud, hairy field, linten vole.
Love a leaf feller