A leaf is a leaf and is alone
Without a stem to hold its own
And save itself from the coming storm –
Weak against the wind’s reform.
A leaf is a leaf and is an exile
Wishing to be blown back into the soil.
A pair of feet and then a hand
Seemingly from a distant land
Picks the leaf up (it wriggles to resist the wind and the stranger).
He pins it in his book as a marker
Of place… place – a concept lost in time –
Lost to his soul encased in rime
By the winter winds of that endless storm.
But in the solace of a new place
The two, who were one in their fate,
(The leaf – robbed of all mirth,
The wanderer – denied rebirth)
Came to terms.
And all their rumination in this alien nation
Led to their biggest find
(Though it brought them no benefit)
The cruelest paradox in the world of mankind:
The ones who left
Are the ones who are left
I R A M. M O N T A N O