I am left, rooted

On its way away

The leaving leaf leafs through the ontologies of a more wanting head

It gets as far as the head that temperatures at an even loss of heat

Very much south of the North that any birthing indicates,

It is a head that loses at a set question of growth and division

It is a head that will therefore not grow divided

Will always sunnyside there, of course

And its occupation will be not more than what it misses

A tree in its own forest

Not a forest in its own tree

It will not forest when it rains

This one waits for the rain.

Much better for the leaf that always leaves.


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