Leaves

 Leaves

 

Winds shall whisper forgive

all the lives we lived

and we did.

 

But winds only are

what they nothing do –

 

have no voice

to heal bruises

that long ago took root;

flourish with just a little rain.

 

Weeds push at cracks

have power winds lack -

when you look back,

stones are split

concrete is grit

pavements you laid

are pothole bits.

 

Olive tree within a grove

where nests the dove

will topple, will bleed –

 

for winds must dust

this land with seeds

and come the fall

scatter and shed leaves.