Yellow Leaf
Lee Slonimsky

Leaves talk
in the sounds they make
as they rasp along the ground,

Suddenly you whirl
as if your ex
might have just whispered
plaintively to you:

A bold leaf gusts onto your pants, mid-calf;
you kick it off.

You really are alone now.  

It breaks up into blur
of yellow across October,
not making a sound.

Talk then is of silence, chilly western wind.

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