if raindrops had parachutes, maybe they’d enjoy the fall

i’m sweeping bones under carpets,
dusting off the urned ashes
of a summer passed.
now I put my pen to page everyday,
trying for some dark, dank university
where I can muffle regrets between squeaky floorboards,
and paint myself blue for a losing team.
my memories fading like freckles,
leaving me leafless to the teeth of the snow,
i’m trying at shedding you for newer growth.

from some ashen desk, I recollect:
you were content with your fraying rope,
your dying oak, your lonely throat--
and your greek naivety; the hubris hope
that sitting gods will let you hang with the stars.
back when you were such a pacifist,
with your opened wrists, your friends underground
and your curling fist:

i left you to your soil and roots,
watered the earth with leaky eyes,
and bid such a seed adieu.

now i wrap my arms around books and pens,
share sweet kisses with cigarettes;
as if a leaf, i’m losing hope,
remembering what you said autumns ago:

that seasons change,
people don’t.