The Leaf by John Swain

Hewn to the wire
rust for the fence,
I watched cattle
trample the sprouts
among the wood,
the ash trees grew
into headstones
abandoned to us.
I see you I see me
clearing the brush
keeping a twig
and pebble stone
for our pockets
to remember
the people under
as we will be.
Wind left the air
low on our faces,
earth left the dirt
over our names,
when we awake
in between
night and morning
you will cry
through separations,
I will die again
miming the leaf.