when the trees spoke to me
I whispered back your name
on every leaf
they asked why I’m not moving
on, I’m moving on,
I’m moving, at least.
my feet crunch uneasily beneath them
their vibrance, their color,
their life
because there’s a quiet
chill as the season
descends
I held you
in September,
remember?
we are losing time,
losing leaves,
losing light
stay?
you smile sadly, and
their voices crack
branches, like
claws outstretched,
reach blindly
as one
by one
your
names
fall
to
the
forest
floor.
Photo by Valeriia Miller
