the leaves fell too hard and fast this fall
The wasp at my elbow quickens, so I watch the wings: what is there to fear?
I might prefer the definitive sting of venom to the silent shedding of the world.
I never second-guessed the depth of my breath until this year,
never measured how much I can go without. Now I know.
In the pause, I’ve forgotten the exhalation of forests outside my home:
the crack and rattle of dried trees,
left alone for too long, choking for life, but still full of swagger.
And how long have you survived? their voices rasp.
Oh. Oh, how precious.