hypothesis

Nearly done, the tree nudges
a falling, its leaves unmoored
like wanton voices of ghosts
their flat shapes floating still

each leaf in obeisance, as it
rests its forehead, collapsed
in crisp offerings, swirling in
to the folding skins of earth

what do leaves know, fleeing
of a lover’s allure, dark as the
snake’s shadow, falling into
gurgling craters of the ocean

the trees will always stand
lovers in denial, symphony
of their sounds suspended
between ripening seasons

the earth will lament, sure
as death, as subdued gaze
of winter is birthed inside
the fire of autumn’s eyes

prelude to spring, putrid
breath, drawn like yawns
from metastasised lungs
of a stubborn underbrush