Fallen Petals

Are not the fallen petals sacred under
trees, as memories, or leaves in autumn’s
thrall; vernal instability begun, her
tints take to flight in paper-hearts. Like Sodom’s
confetti, cast off bibilots obsessed
with covering the buried roots below
the shade.  Removing lace of spring’s confessed
attraction, for the sake of fruit, let go.
And so we turn from love and plunge as well
in seasoned change regardless of our gender,
despite intent, our feelings pitch pastel
and plummeting, as seeds of coriander,
give up the parsley for a fragrant brown
releasing height, accustomed to the ground.

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