Tears like Autumn Leaves

Tears like Autumn Leaves

The leaves have started to change their (com)position.

Aging, they slide to the ground on the face of the wind, and I wonder. 

What if we saw our tears as a phenomenon as marvelous as the shifting of leaves?

Tears too mark transition. They fall. They bare us. They bear us along.

Would we savor a stroll through our internal glades if our tears blazed in the sunlight?

Would we peep at the tears of our reformations if they blushed like ripe apples?

If we loved tears like autumn leaves, would we honor the changing of our own seasons?

Note: I've been working on a book for almost two years. A chapter of that book is contemplating the phenomenon of tears, both tears as a bodily process and tears as a spiritual gift. Recently, I was watching the leaves flutter to the ground and noticed that they seemed to have this same kind of reorganizing and releasing kind of movement that tears can have. I wrote this little poem about their kinship.