Oct 19, 2025

With The Leaves

I am only a leaf in the fall,
loosened from all I recall—
the branch, the breeze, the endless green,
the sky where sunlight used to lean.

 

 

Oct 7, 2025

To the morning sun through the pines


Your light drifts slow, like memory.
Each needle catches fire,
and the ground becomes
a quiet sea of gold and ash.

You fall on benches still wet
with night’s unspoken dreams,
where no one sits.

 

 

Alberto Ignacio