Walking home after
the doctor's decree
one leaf quivered
above her head,
like the memory of
of a love she'd
never had.
Sometimes
that was enough.
She wore the cold,
climbed the hill.
Another leaf
fell down to her feet.
Camera in tow, she
stopped to shoot
a close-up of its face, then
placed it in the palm
of her hand
and asked a question.
Curmudgeonly gingko,
faded yellow,
cracked all over,
dying and soon
to be covered in
piss, said only
this: Beware
false prophets.
Then turned its
deaf ear,
refused to discuss
her prognosis.
Oh glorious,
glorious day.
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