She reaches skyward

arms heavy with gold fans

yellow, the exact color

and from what I read

once, within a 20 minute span all those

quiet leaves exhale:

shrug off like a damp scarf

or a nightgown.

Leaving a silent puddle of sun

pooled vivid around bare limbs

still reaching, once in majesty

now in regret

or freedom.

AuthorBeth Ables