A Letter to the Yellow Leaves:

who do not catch the eye as starkly as the orange and auburn,

but filter the glimmers of sunlight as many little sieves

and wait as flickering candle flames that glow where birds discern.

I’ll pick some up and place them in a woven wreath

to glow as golden embers when cold reveals its face.

They’ll shine from every vein, every crevice, every crease,

the light that lights the heart of my home comes from within the yellow leaf

And when the yellow leaves are homesick from their wooded thrones

and wish to patiently sleep until the beckoning of winter’s lore,

I’ll gently carry their crinkled structures to the shelter of their homes

and lay them back upon the ground in which they rested before.