I wrote this poem some time ago. I'd like to share it in honor of autumn and the secret longings of the heart.

Leaves

I remember
almost a lifetime ago
walking, skipping along
pushing the crisp dampness
of autumn
in the sweet, pungent wetness
of leaves,

the smell
the feel
the delicate texture of
leaves,

and me.

I remember
playing in the tickling
urgency of leaves
piling mounds and mounds
to bury myself,

remembering
believing
with such childish
immediacy in these
leaves.

But now in the quickness
of the years
nearly forgetting
the necessity of those days,

if only somehow I can learn
now once again to
have faith in leaves,

I think I would
know my heart.