where I left your name

There is a certain way a leaf falls.

In the sun, it falls lightly.

In the wind, it careens with unexpected grace.

In the rain, it dances it’s way down betwixt silver drops.

And when you are the leaf, you fall like a raven’s cry. Or a misplaced key. Or the end of a poem.

You fall with eyes closed and arms outstretched.

I kiss a single hair until it is flame-promised. I whisper that you will be safe (as safe as those things that fall can be). And then I push you over.

I will watch you fall, not because I know where you are going (I do), and not to ensure you land the same creature you are now (you won’t). I watch you fall because having given you your second name, I must help you find your third and last.