The Last Red Leaf of Winter

by David YB Kaufmann

The last red leaf of winter
sidewalk stilled before a blower, or winds of snow, sweep it down the street of frost and fear
flutters as my feet approach, 
as if to move aside,
for it has seen, 
I suppose, 
so many leaves of orange, green and brown, 

crushed beneath a heel that careless treads or takes perverse delight
what though the leaf has fallen from its tree, 
there is still the chlorophyll within and beauty in the colors of our age - I raise my collar against the sudden breeze, lower my hat, and think of warmth and ease then look in memory for the last red leaf and wonder how I saw it, 
in joy or grief.