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.