Leaves

The leaves

are hanging themselves

on flimsy branches that

sometimes break.

When they strike the ground

it is gentle.

No dramatic crash or

thunder.

Nearly silent, a softening.

Eyelids, or

the sound of footsteps

walking away.

Your body knows that sound

I think.

When I say that the leaves

are hanging themselves,

do not think of Christmas lights

glimmering on the rail.

Think of ropes.