X: Photographs of Autumn

These photographs are brittle leaves

That fell from trees, that we once caught.

I press them tender into sleeves

Of glass to halt the course of rot.

Though kept well fed with water shed,

They wilt to brown as colors fade.

No leaf can live beside the bed,

Without sunlight that makes the shade.

Yet even still, though claimed by dust,

I keep them hung upon my wall,

For memory you did entrust

Of walk with you through golden Fall.

• April 2025

Submission History

Date	Publication	Status
June 12, 2025	Macrame Literary Journal	Accepted