Into the Open Sky

There is a poem somewhere
lost
I no longer search for it
only one word remains
- a leaf, all filigree
hardly recognizable
that it came from this maple
this tree of love
but we recognize it
this word
it stirs and moves
in us, turning round and round
we turn in the same way
reminiscent of that leaf
turning on its last flight to the ground
it does not resist
the gravity that guides it
down and down and down
it does not regret the letting go
into open sky
grateful to its friend gravity pulling
and pulling, "come fly"
then
turning in blue
an artifact pointing at something
that one word
suspended outside of time
in the warm air:
darling