Fear Began It

 

 

I see veins in my friend’s hand, veins in a leaf—

fearful veins, because they know that

impermanence is the rule of the universe.

No leaf survives the winter.

Falling leaves collect nothing, leaving the tree behind.

Hands, on the other hand, gather and gather;

so many things that never grew, and cannot fall, or die.

Fear began it, running through the veins.

Lacking the grace of the leaf’s surrender,

all the gathered belongings lie,

trapped in the gathering dust; abandoned,

stuck in the lie of permanence.

Trees don’t mourn the fall of leaves,

but these chattels seem to mourn,

saying, “If only we were allowed to fall.”