These Haikus Are Not About Leaves

A green leaf fell and

I stood up to catch it; My

breath was caught instead.

The wind managed to

blow breaths to push leaves beyond

my grasp—every one.

Chiefly, those green leaves,

which were the most fragile as

they inhaled, like me.

But you were able

to catch it in your gentle

fist and put it back.

And as twig and branch

reunited, so did my

stolen breath and I.

You had it the whole

time—it was not stolen: I

gave it all to you.

As one, the leaf and

I exhaled, and your living

fist opened for me.

Leaving the green leaf

living on its own, we found

others to live for.