Meanings... Poem by RIC BASTASA

scattered
practically (hmm probably)
thoughts are
like dry, yellow, leaves
already unsure
from which twig did it
come from

no one asks about
the history of a leaf
no one

there are too many of them
meant either to be
blown away, buried upon their
own kind,
layer upon layer,
rotting upon one another
or simply just to be burned
heaps of them
turning into smoke
phantoms against
the rains of
dark skies

we are leaves