from such we emerge, ours
a violence done to that stark line drawing before to after
and from which we break over and over, branching as far

as we can conceive, each image
of ourselves growing increasingly identical like these leaves,
and waving like the mirage waves to keep our eyes from ever letting go.

from new trees,
by jorie graham. 
  

i would like to make a poem about leaf-blowers but that will have to be for another day or never or for a poet cuz all that comes out is barking. i would like to make a poem about a dog in leaves.