somewhere west of here
leaves are falling,

& i have nothing romantic scribbled down
on coffee-stained napkins
from corner cafes about them.

i don't know what color they turned.
what they sound like,
smell like,

but i could guess.

compare them to a memory,
your hair or a campfire.

give them a soundtrack.
a title.
a purpose.

an audience
ready with applause.


sometimes we are
those leaves falling.


sometimes it's okay to be off the record.

unobserved, and left alone to our own travels.

i don't know if this makes sense, but this was a great collaboration of keywords,.....all the things that make up a memory

these words were staggered
like a couple of couples
passing around a paper bag clad bottle of vino...

...content and warm in their current state

...and josh was right,
that's exactly how a memory is

Sometimes we are those leaves falling

i loved this hillary. fantastic and refreshing fall poem.