Sadness is a chewable tablet
in the fall. The riptide
returns with a little less

water in the hourglass
than yesterday. There is a bottle
with your name on it, a plastic

orange, pills you don’t believe in
but I believe in you and your bare-
branch will. Every year it all ends

and each time,
leaves appear again.

(originally published in Chronogram, Spring 2025)