A leaf, dying

I hold this leaf
This vessel of life
Between my thumb and index
A twist and it breaks
While I am left
without remorse.

I am the autumn breeze
stale, with
the stench of
death

Tell me you're not
this fragile, but with
your lips moving, your
eyes seeing, your
hands holding on
to this very tree we
got the leaf from.

Tell me you're not so
fragile as to break like
a loose stone. Tell me
you would bear me;
a little stooped but with
your legs on the ground
your teeth clenched from
trying too hard.

I will
rise then myself,
I swear if you do so
I will exhaust my exiguous
self for your sake
and pride myself
on the scars
of the dying leaf.