Lonely as a Leaf

Every so often,

a random glimpse of innocence

carries me back to

where the melancholy breeze

that swimming hole

of September first blew,

the cool one that plucked

the season’s first dying leaf,

leaving it to fall, lonely,

whirling to the earth.

You are whispered back to life,

brown hair matted from our swim

in the gushing mountain river,

that turns the corner

through the brushy field

and arrives under the beams

of the red covered bridge,

where the knotted rope swing

threw us plunging into the eddy

just before the boulders. 

Sitting on the river bank,

the short white fringe

of your cut off jean shorts

adorned your legs

where your hand rested

next to mine, unsure.  

Towels wrapped our

bare, shivering shoulders

after that season’s last swim.

Your heart caressed mine.

I longed to lift your hand,

to see your fingers unfold

to weave into mine.

After delicious lingering moments,

never having cause to expect

they would ever cease to be,

you rose, dropped your head

and tossed your locks forward,

vigorously brushing out knots

until your luscious hair shined.

With a flip of your head,

you commanded your hair

back over your shoulders.

When you walked over

to the mounded dirt road

lined with dainty pebbles, 

your gaze struck me.

The wave of your hand

punctuated season’s end,

departure from the mountains.

Like the season’s first dying leaf,

I was left to fall lonely,

Whirling to the earth.

By S.T. Haggerty