The leaf lands face up
at the end of the white silk train
of your wedding dress as you walk the path
flanked now by standing guests.
The late green cleaves to the moving silk
like a whispered vow. A chickadee cries.
Suddenly, not the wind but the hand
of a guest sweeps down - sweeps
the leaf away from the bridal white.
The silk sighs. The smiling sun forgives.
* * *
You stop before that waiting wagon wheel:
It stands unstirred for years at the edge of the pond.
Surprised, you see how passing through the hub
young green grows into the light....
* * *
Fond though slight
are the moments made of leaves that gently touch
your changing life.