does each leaf know
the moment it breaks bud
that there are thousands others
like itself
opening in time
to catch the light
and send it coursing
down the tree as food
each one contributing its nurture
to the whole
is there perhaps a moment
when the summer breeze
turns its face a fraction
and causes opened palms
to touch
or is it content to know
only its connection to
the source and the recipient
the same
to simply hang and be a leaf
could it know
that what it thusly feeds
becomes food for next year’s bud
was it never told
it could not be
so
as it watches others fall
releasing their attachment to
being, certain ways
can it feel the change inside itself
witness its own beauty
with no fear of isolation or regret
is it merely as it seems
a letting go
followed by a dance, a settling
down to join the others on the floor
and is it then perhaps, it knows,
as absorbed by earth
and drawn again by life,
it at last loses its identity
as leaf,
that it is part of something vast
and as you whiz me by
do you know each word is chosen
in the shaping of a poem
or do you not,
worried as you are about turning the right color,
ever even see the tree
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