Leaves
by
Amethyst

Now there are leaves
and leaves upon the ground
behind your eyes
oak whose fingers crisp
and close
birch and aspen
raining, drifting down

and you were fresh
and innocent and young
then that night
in Oregon
rivers raining through
your hair
laughing, half-believing
half-denying

trusting
following me here

and you are winter
on white sheets
descending
frost and fire
robbing you of breath--

could I have changed it
had I known, love
all those leaves
and rains ago
that I must have
the tenderness
to set you free
into that country
visible behind your eyes

as your pulses
hesitate and slow
like footsteps
so like footsteps
light and halting

timid
as a deer goes forth
in her first snow