Desperado

this tree outside my window…

it shed its leaves,

sprouted green-brown ones

b4 I fished out my camera;

such a short autumn!

At nite, they throw

patterns on my walls,

these leaves caged by

window bars, plastered

charcoal grey on pale yellow.

I fall asleep amidst these reflections...

My room is no cavern,

nor I a prisoner.

I am in love

with these caged shadow-leaves,

but long more for those

bare branches: uncaptured, evasive, shortlived.

Wat fruit will I pluck

off bare trees…

n wat paper boats will I set sail

on a dry river bed?

I like d tree n d river bed.

That’s all. But,

wen winter’s gone

n leaves sprout,

n rains bring a trickle,

I recall only bared beauty.