Enduring migration the monarchs
gather in trees to sleep. Fold.
This is nothing new.
Already the trees prepare
their limbs elastic as
they’ve unfurled themselves
To snatch
whatever must fall — be it
snow, be it rain,
be it the tumbling child, the kite,
be it the rare orange burdens
of a beauty soon to flag.
Image: Geran de Klerk on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 