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  • Sydney Cusack

Onward

As it exits the tree,

the tired, lifeless leaf sinks…


Slowly,

soundlessly,

as if the exhales

of the passersby

were just enough

to sever its sickly stem.


Nearby, squirrels desperately dig

through frosted-over foundation.


Gangly grasses share with gratitude

their final waltz in the wavering wind,

before the merciless November falls.


Fallen branches break,

under your selfish stride —


As you approach the lingering leaf,

soundlessly,

a hopeful breeze

catches my cracked frame,

and carries my casualties

to clearer skies.


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