It’s impossible to be surrounded by decay
and not age a little;
my marcescent memories made rings ago,
but grief is a painful part of how I grow,
and I’m a little worried
when we stopped holding hands,
and you took the swizzle slide
out of my reach,
our branching relationship
forked on fall’s plate,
and you twirled in glee
before rotting by my side.
Yeah, maybe I survived,
but I’m a little worried
a part of me died.
© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved
My morning walk musings of the tree’s feelings, paired with some ekphrastic musical inspiration. Marscence is most interesting. Why do the trees hold on to their leaves or why do they let them go? I may write more on this as our season shifts. Are we similar, do you think?
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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