do not fall, crescent leaf.
the drying grass and the empty cans 
will greet your arrival 
on the ground of time,
but I've been laying here for hours
and still ache for softness.

you will feel the wind's hand
tugging on your green dress,
imploring a graceful fall.

a man will bring his book,
open at the page, where he
will want to lay
you and the sadness of swaying.

do not fall, lone leaf.
down, where my head lies,
eyes stare 
at the paved passageways and know 
the white smile of the medusa,
but do not ask her to approach.

8.30.98