Nicholas Yancy

  It fell,
though it didn't feel much like it as
    it drifted down, not lightly, but like rain that got
    too cold, overstayed its welcome with the bitter wind,

  and it just fell
like some tired song, a memory with its crinkled edges
    light, but heavy, and these gray skies, they'd try
    to lift it up, but it's just too heavy for Fall's old heart.

  So it fell
like a sustain pedal, out to hold you tight so
    you can't do anything but sing in unison,
    when all you want to do is sing alone,

  and you just fell
like the last of the leaves, ready for peace
    strewn on the earth, so far from their pedestal—
    (they're all so) indistinguishable, yet unique.

  The way we fell
like hot water over tea, ready to bring life
    to what's hidden inside, speaking only of rebirth
    because all good things take time—
    though Spring follows none but Winter,
it's not time yet.