the leaves of my poem

i chew the leaves of my poem
they fan green and spirited
in the height of their hour
veins visible like these 
that inscribe my hand, run
with the life of dreams 
that have nowhere to go but 
back  down   to the 
branch to the root
you don't see

look:
        their asymmetry of being

red oak stained with rain pollen
much like the blemishes on my face
t o r n  by time and caterpillars 
that become f u l l   and
bloom into butterflies

the leaves testify to all the seasons

green ash have weathered the wild 
waltz of wind and rain
hungry for the sun 
they drink from the clouds

i feel the laugh lines on the maple
and swallow their history -
    this one, curled copper
    like rusted edges but it's
just the candor of time 

grain and weave of memories 
cru n ch between my teeth
composition on my tongue
i chew the leaves of my poem


Poem Leaf

160 thoughts on “the leaves of my poem

  1. I HAD to read your poem and it evoked memories of NYC as we lived there for a few years. I particularly like the lines, ‘green ash have weathered the wild waltz of wind and rain
    hungry for the sun they drink from the clouds’. I’m smiling as I write this. Just beautiful!

    • Interesting! I wonder why it evoked NYC (where I grew up). Though I cAn imagine those types of leaves, from memory. I went to Stuyvesant High School. So sweet of you. Appreciate the feedback, W.

      Diana

My Two Gold Cents in the Holistic Treasury

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