Poem: Ghosts In the Leaves

 

Ghosts In the Leaves

 

dangles and wriggles,

shawls strewn over shoulders of invisible mouths

which once writhed in battle.

 

venules who were sinews once,

lunged flesh glistening young,

fury surging to flutter crimson--

 

legions of them, these waving, flapping flags,

acute for a slashing season or two,

before they congeal into a garden of rust.

 

silent then in rot

to feed memorials risen

in the branches of statuesque oaks.

 

every autumn more lobes drip,

laying their own versions of vanguard colors,

feeding a graveyard of whispers

 

to testify in the breeze.

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2/13 changed some words

2/12 ... changed some words