This one is about leaves, dead leaves on the dirty ground, they seem like a special kind of leaf to me, like a maple or an oak leaf. But more than this they seem to weep as leaves.. Like in the last desperate throwes of the autumn shift they ooze their last breath not unlike bees at the bottom of a sting. I seen these on the street and through some slight sad feeling attached my plight to them, shifting, aching, elder, changing, maybe this is it, all of everything on the floor laying down.
The year is gone again and moving on these ones leave a mark to say its so.
Maybe then it’s something in the water of the rain.