Leaves. They sing and dance against the pirouettes of the wind and
Sometimes we caught their ovaled chums in
Small palms. They come in all
Sorts of shades, pelted and wrinkly
And veins visible.
Like balls of the pendulum they swing
Back and forth just like a friend of a friend
Giggling. Hysterical. They tap each other with
Unanimous cackles slurring
A serenade of childhood.
They shudder when lightning stuns the benighted
Empyrean, I swear I heard them cry. Bodies trapped and
Nested and hung helplessly
Juxtaposed on a body behind that red wall perpetually
Waiting for comparison.
I watch them collapse one at a time as the
Axe penetrated what used to be
A body. Their body. A carcass strewn
With holes and lines and lines that could
Define its age. Their age.
I watch them ablaze, one by one.
Lit by a single fire and pulverised into
Ashes. Kissing the grass and
Licking the ground loam.
A sullen, taciturn funeral.