leaves of myself

i sieve through murky waters to find leaves of myself:

fresh green leaves

curling, rotten leaves

carried downstream, my sunlight jailers

that turned the sun into sugar.

leaves, have you left me?

the water scorpion hops from leaf to leaf.

the little black tadpoles scurry where a branch meets the water,

sending ripples in the stream like cast-out nets.

i look long and hard for my long-lost leaves

when a kingfisher swoops the critter in its beak,

chasing the tadpoles who chase the sun in the stream.

i stand up tall to find the sun's arms around

the rings i have grown, the critters i have shown

my bark to. the mycelium flourishing in my shade,

on these leaves lost in sultry summers,

that formed this mud that the kingfisher duginto the soft earth at my feet. so here you were—

my leaves.