Lone leaf on bare branch am I:

poised between two worlds,

bygone baccannal of sap-rising

Fingers of chill pilfer my green

fading to briefer brighter colors

Winter Solstice curling

Nights longer, cooler:

sap-faltering now sires

crisp orphan.

I cling,

wondering

as stealthy nipping

weans my wild summer lusts

wind-woos my release:

frost-scowling

asking

me

even while I hold on

tarrying,

to be

Executor

of my own unfixing

quitting home

for head-over somersault

uncertain flight

unnoticed exit

to hushed nightfall.

Sleep,

you soften my stiff

seedless form

with gentling rain

Self, be still to hear:

an ancient mother

conceiving for another

spring.

Fear not, let go!

Your fall was not

reinless plunge,

but every

curve fated,

every straying

in the due lane.

Your upborne path

is already marked--

where you land

so lightly

is cradled womb

Paschal Bernard Baute

October 21, 1986

in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky,

at a place called