I trampled on a tiny branch
of goldenrod petals
entangled in mottled hay.
I thought it was real, wild, and lone,
like a single leaf
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clinging to its relentless host
in the middle of autumn.
But to my chagrin
its tiny stem bent without tearing,
its petals rough and non-fragrant,
fit to decorate entwining weaves of a basket.
Petals peeled my eyes wide open,
during peaking intensities
Of dedication, and hopelessness.
I kept this branch in remembrance
of our forgiveness,
of what I felt for you.
only upon first glance.