I do not lie still.
Like the leaves rustling
in the autumn breeze,
I am restless.
But your words calm me
like a song,
like the gentle flickering
of a candle, light and heat
dancing against the darkness.
The leaves, too, find their calm,
loose their grip
make their final journey
one by one
their sonnet quiets.
No more rustling;
silence.
But even the silence feels full
when the winds carry your name.
Your voice, a gentle whisper,
reminds me
the leaves have not ended their journey;
They have let go
of what bound them.
They have offered themselves
to the earth.