Two dead Ficus leaves
Circle on the patio breeze
Rushing after one another
Then they stop and stare
What do you want
Each asks the other
I asked you first
They both repeat
Is it possible they're lovers
And the wind that's abandoned them
Their old quickening and fire
Following one another into the flames
That have turned them faded bronze
Frankly they look like earrings
Only an archaic queen would own
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