The leaves are confused
when the limb snips them off,
and they fall, sudden but peaceful.
They heard heaven was up,
that white glare they turned to,
turned their faces to.
They heard fall already happened;
they were spared original sin.
And swept shimmy-shackle,
reds on greens and seams all in between.
They only compare old songs
and consent, heaven
may be this way.
march 18 08
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