Bleeding Time

The leaves started bleeding last night,
with no one there to watch.
This overnight metamorphosis
is as much a mystery as yesterday’s sun,
once so vigorous and sturdy
in that western sky, abruptly deciding
it was time for bed
before even I did.
The leaves started bleeding last night,
the red on the dawn side of those maples
waving a warning that the green time’s
running out, and I wasn’t there,
wasn’t able to stanch
this wound in Time.
That’s because I was bleeding last night,
dripping these red remaining hours
where once my green days ran
vigorous and sturdy toward the eastern sky.
When it was I who decided what time
it was to start my living,
even before Day did.

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