Leaving (an Italian sonnet by Troy Cady)
Leaving
by Troy Cady
And he recalls those days of limp wet leaves,
of walks in rain and talks beyond the why’s
of friends. She placed her small soft hand in lies
and stroked the pain enclosed and clenched; he grieved,
chest taut and tense till now, and found relief
in sobs. Her mouth kept still. And warm damp sighs,
pale skin, lithe heart, held gaze, brave soul, and time
had eased his fears to sleep with fresh wet heaves.
Ash trees let go of torn, spent leaves. They held
before through seasons that had always fall
or winter chill, but now astir, they blew
from wind that once was ire. Air cooled, they fell
by cloud and mist and droplets pure. Her call
he heard. Like limp wet leaves, he dropped, then flew.
