Trees they sway
Ribbons of color
Tendrils like cords of octopus tentacles
Thick like the tendered bird that once would fly above, between
Red into orange into yellow, trees bleed their colors
Watery blush
On the page
One stroke of a brush
On the page
The paper folds at its corner, too saturated with water
The trees pool in the center, gravity guides them together
How winter chill fades, only graphite remains
Of the trees who come gather
Around the flame of their fallen leaves
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