blush of dawn Jade Nicole Beals

“The Reddest Leaves”

Don't talk about the dream aloud, so 
I see that little brown, glossy-coated bear 
running low to the ground and coming toward me 
in the solitary, unmoving morning air, 
beside the outside gate of the swimming pool,
and in the dream, I consider, if I don't glare at the bear,
if I act kindly, it can glide by peacefully, on its way,
even if its pace quickens or stops, 
But if I wake now, 
I know I can wake up safely, 
and I do—
I wish to go wherever I go 
as if in a little boat sized for me 
turned me upon the lapping waters of a bay, 
whichever way, 
but right now, 
this early afternoon
through the two high windows
in my bedroom 
the outside scene revealed,
I see the reddest leaves,
which seem to tremble a little 
even still, even when the winds 
appear to be unmoving anymore,
and the green leaves all along stay firm,
it is the highest, reddest leaves that look 
as though they are dipped in a sky
of cool bay water, so soothed, 
and as if they themselves see 
that they are beautiful.


7 responses to ““The Reddest Leaves””

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