Yes, of course, the leaves all fell, and of course,
as they fell, they wept to the winds as if the orchards
were stealing their stuffing from the dark clouds.
Each leaf, a poem waiting for the right words to find it.
It was a time of burning tears and the earth hesitated on its axis,
it took Ithuriel a moment to take stock in the orbit of the stars,
they were drowning in their serene loneliness in the vacuum of space.
And there is always some wayward angel waiting in the wings,
who thinks he is a demagogue, waiting to ambush you, pick you up
and throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes after the fall.
4/3 NaPoWriMo
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