LEAVES TO THE LEFT
Heart shaped
and verdant.
Sun pumping
through them
through their rivers
of raised veins.
So much rawness
gathered in one place
is nearly too much to bear.
Yet, I step in among them
to get a closer look
to be surrounded by branches
to be inside a thicket
of leaves, leavings.
Their green fuse is on fire.
I can almost hear the crackling.
A sound like Sirens singing
like songs, sonnets, sung
to Orpheus–who also knew
something about grief and loss
and what it meant to be left
and then subsequently
torn apart.