The Stuff In Between

The poet wrote of birch leaves
lying imbricate on the ground –
the definition likening the word
imbricate to scales of a fish
neatly overlapping. As I read
the poem, I looked up at yellow
birch leaves fluttering in the
cold east wind and landing every
which way but imbricate on the
net covering the pond. I could
barely see the gold-fish looking
up in my direction through the
wet, soggy, jumbled leaves.
Sometimes all the messy stuff
in between keeps us from seeing
each other.

One thought on “The Stuff In Between

  1. Indeed … good images, too, of fall … an extraordinary time of the year … yesterday, or so, some writer noted some poet or something like that who described fall as “second spring” with all the leaves flowering in bright fall colors … well, that’s pretty optimistic, I guess, but heck, why not?

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