by Rose Kress
I sit on the bank,
in the misty rain,
cheeks numb from fall’s crisp kiss.
I watch the last of the leaves plummet
and the current carries them out of sight.
like my thoughts,
tumble through my mind
and capture my attention
only to be borne away
by the river of time
and become fodder for some new life.
as long as I don’t snatch them up,
put them between pages
to gaze at later.