Time is fleeting and fleeing
Like the broken flakes of autumn
Leaves in the November wind,
Further dwindling to simple pieces
Of debris that clutter and cluster in
The pockets of young men and
Old men alike, with their forever
Fleeting and fleeing lives,
Like the flakes of skin that swim
Along the air currents of every next
Fleeting and fleeing moment that leaves
Behind a small part of who you are,
Hoping that your footsteps are more
Than just footsteps to someone who
Realizes that footsteps weren’t meant
To be followed, but photographed and
Mapped in the direction of how
Time is fleeting and fleeing
From one person to the next,
And how we all carry a clutter and cluster
Of everyone else whose footsteps
We have photographed in the wind
Carrying the broken flakes of autumn leaves.